To Live in the Shadow
by icedintheveins
Summary: AU. Blaine is an A-list movie star being destroyed by fame. Kurt is hired as his stylist. Over time, these two begin to heal each other, but not without a good amount of obstacles. Multi-chap. Klaine.
1. Chapter 1

**one.**

* * *

><p>It's rare that anyone ever sees Blaine Anderson completely sober.<p>

Well, in the last six months or so, that is.

So, it really isn't a surprise when he stumbles into the agency building this morning, dark sunglasses hiding his bloodshot eyes. He stalks right past everyone in the halls, keeping his head straight forward and never acknowledging anyone until at last he reaches the right office. He throws open the door, letting it slam behind him and slumps into the seat in front of her desk.

Quinn Fabray looks up from her paperwork lazily, not even phased.

"Well, good morning to you too, Blaine," she says, indifferent.

Blaine doesn't reply, but waits, until at last he huffs and asks, "What do you want?"

Quinn sighs, rolling her eyes. "Could you just calm down for a few seconds, or is that too difficult?"

"Well, considering I had to get up at this ungodly hour," Blaine replies bitterly. "Yes."

"It's ten in the morning," Quinn points out. "But I suppose when you're out partying yet again . . " She slams down three tabloids in front of him. They each show various photos of him in different locations – each one of him hazy-eyed and flushed outside of a sketchy bar. "This needs to stop, Blaine," Quinn continues seriously. "Unless you want to become the male version of Lindsay Lohan," she adds with a shrug.

Blaine glares at her, leaning back in his seat.

"I'm not kidding, though," Quinn says. "This is not good for your image, for your career, and especially for you, Blaine. For your health and sanity and emotions. You have to take some control."

Blaine closes his eyes, shaking his head and reaching up to curve his fingers over his mouth. "You don't understand," he says at last.

"Understand what?" Quinn asks. "That you're spinning out of control? That partying it up and drinking until you're sick is not the way to go? Because it's not."

Blaine continues to avoid her gaze, breathing deeply as the pounding that's been in his head seems to double, and his stomach churns.

Quinn sighs as she stands up from her desk, moving around it until she comes in front of Blaine. She leans over, her voice soft as she speaks. "Look, I know sometimes fame brings pressures that are hard to deal with, Blaine, but you can't keep doing this to yourself."

"The hell I can't," Blaine mutters.

Quinn ignores him. "You need to cut back. You need to at least try to sober up."

"And what if I can't?" Blaine snaps back. "What if I don't want to?"

Quinn straightens up, pressing her lips together. "Alright, I can smell the alcohol on your breath, and now is obviously not the time to argue with you." She taps her fingers against her thigh, thinking a moment, and Blaine crumbles some more underneath his fierce headache.

"But anyway," she goes on. "You have a red carpet to walk tonight, and obviously hundreds of reporters will be there. Blaine, you need to take it seriously. I don't want to see you hammered in anymore tabloids, so you need to set them straight."

Blaine sighs heavily. "How?"

"Figure it out," Quinn replies. "You know how to charm them. Lie your ass off."

Blaine offers a small half-smile. "Sounds easy enough."

Quinn smiles back. "That's the Blaine I know." She pauses, her happy expression faltering. "But you still need help," she says quietly. "And you know I'm not just your publicist. I've known you for years, Blaine. I'll listen if you want me to."

"Thanks," Blaine says. "But no thanks." He pushes himself up, swaying as he gets to his feet.

"You should at least talk to someone," Quinn calls after him as he leaves the room, but the door is shut before she's even finished the sentence.

.

.

"Damn, Blaine. Quinn's right. You need to get a hold of yourself."

He's sitting outside at a small café, eating lunch with his best friend, Jeff Augustine. Well, he's not exactly eating – just sipping down water, still trying to fight his stupid hangover. Jeff, on the other hand, is inhaling his food, and Blaine has to turn his head, feeling queasy.

"It's not that simple," Blaine says drily, eyes scanning over the metal tables and chairs around them, topped with small bouquets of flowers.

They're empty, mostly, and he's just thankful no one has spotted him yet. He's got bodyguards close by in case something should happen, but it'd be nice if once in awhile he could just go out without the fear of being bombarded.

"Just stop drinking all the time," Jeff says through a mouthful of food. "Maybe you should like, stay with someone, so they can make sure you don't. Move back in with your parents."

Blaine scoffs obnoxiously. "Like that's going to happen," he says, taking another sip of water. "They already control my life enough as it is – I'm not going to give them more control."

Jeff nods, silent for a moment. "I have room," he says quietly.

Blaine sighs, unsure of how to reply. "Thanks," he says, "but it's not just drinking anymore. I don't think you can really help me."

Jeff looks at him sadly for a moment before changing the subject. "So – a premiere tonight – you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Blaine replies bitterly.

"You don't seem excited," Jeff comments with a smirk.

"I just hate doing shit like this all the time," Blaine says, shifting his weight. "Why do I always have to be everywhere at once? It's fucking annoying."

"You're an attention whore, that's why," Jeff replies, and Blaine actually gives smirk.

"And because I love to rile up the paparazzi," Blaine says, leaning back and propping his elbow on the seat behind him. "Hmmm, I wonder how I can do that tonight . . "

"Oh, god," Jeff mutters. "Don't do anything too crazy – Quinn will kill you."

"Oh, relax," Blaine says dismissively. "I won't do anything. Besides, everyone's getting on my back all the time, and I'd really just like to shake them off. I'll wait until I'm Mr. Perfect Role Model again until I decide to fuck shit up."

Jeff snickers, almost choking on his food.

"Once I'm good in the public eye, I'm going to give Quinn hell," Blaine says with a sigh of contentment. "I'll show them all." He flashes a wicked grin and then takes another sip of water when a shriek reaches his ears, _"Oh. My. God."_

"Fuck."

Blaine knows what's happening before she even screams. He gives an eye-roll and leaps from his seat, pulling Jeff along with him.

"_Blaine Anderson!"_

He and Jeff slip behind Blaine's bodyguard at the last second, squeezing through the front entrance of the café and racing down the block until a limo pulls up next to the curb. The three of them slide into the backseat, breathing hard.

"Where to?" the driver asks, and Blaine gives a sigh, looking at his watch. Quinn wanted him back within an hour. "To the agency, I suppose."

.

.

"Quinn, why do I have to be here so early?" Blaine asks irritably, plopping down in a chair, and throwing his feet up on her desk. "The premiere doesn't start until six."

"Because we have lot to do before you're allowed back out in public again," Quinn replies, not taking her gaze away from her work.

"I was just at a café," Blaine retorts, shoving his hands behind his head.

Quinn glances in front of him. "I mean in front of the paparazzi."

"Right," Blaine says sourly.

Paparazzi. It's always about the paparazzi and what pleases them. Never what Blaine's, oh no, never that.

"There better be some heavy alcohol at the after-party," Blaine says under his breath.

Jeff laughs from where he leans against the doorway and Quinn shoots him a glare before turning her attention to Blaine.

"You _will not _be drinking tonight," she says sternly, pointing her finger at him.

"Why not?" Blaine asks. "Everyone gets drunk at the after-party. It won't be so bad then."

"Because once you start drinking, Blaine, you can't stop," Quinn says seriously. "I'm not risking it. You'll be completely wasted, which will lead to very bad things that we can't afford."

"I'm pretty sure it's only about you," Blaine retorts. "Because if I don't get alcohol in my system I'll go crazy. I can't deal with people. I don't want to talk or mingle with anyone. I hate it."

"But you're going to have to," Quinn says, finally setting her work down. "Blaine, the way you're behaving is destroying your career and your reputation – "

"What about _me_?" Blaine asks, sitting up, and his eyes flash with anger. "When is it ever about me, huh? Do you think I give a shit about my reputation? Do you think I give a shit about my career? I don't. I don't want to be a part of it anymore."

"Blaine, just take a deep breath," Quinn says calmly.

"No – why should I?" Blaine asks. "So I can keep listening to you tell me how to live my life? Well, I'm sick of it. I'm sick of everyone telling me what I can and can't do. Other people can go off and party and get drunk and do drugs, but I can't. I can't because that's not what people want me to be. Sure, maybe it's not good for me to do it – but it's all that keeps me sane in this hellhole."

"You're right," Quinn says. "It isn't good for you Blaine. And that's why you need to take a stand here. Drinking and doing drugs is not going to help you feel better, okay? It's only going to make things worse."

"Really," Blaine asks with a little half-smirk. "Because from where I'm standing it makes me feel pretty damn great."

Quinn sighs, quiet for a moment as she thinks. Blaine sits, waiting for her and tapping his leg impatiently.

"Blaine – " she starts softly. "Just listen to me a second, okay – "

"No," Blaine says sharply, and he's rising from his seat. "I'm done with this. I'm sick of answering to you – doing everything you say."

"Blaine," Quinn says, her voice now filling with anger. "I'm your publicist. This is my job."

"Well, you're doing a pretty shitty job of things, aren't you?" Blaine asks.

"That's it," Quinn says, holding up her hands. "I give up. Go get ready now. Go to your stylist and change, get your hair done. Just go. And Jeff, talk some sense into him."

"Fine, I'm outta here," Blaine replies, and he storms from the room, muttering curses at her all the way.

Jeff gives a nod and follows after him.

.

.

"Blaine, would you just stop being so stubborn for a second?" Jeff asks desperately.

"No," Blaine replies shortly, fixing his tie. "I'm not going to talk about this anymore. I'm sick of talking about. I'm sick of being nagged and judged and told what to do. Well, you know what, Quinn can beg all she wants - I'm not listening to her tonight."

"But she's right," Jeff presses.

"But maybe I don't care," Blaine replies, stalking away from him and back into his dressing room closet.

Blaine returns with a slim, shiny jacket, and his stylist, Maria throws it over him, adjusting the color and sleeves. She grabs a measuring tape and brings it around his waist, writing down measurements on the palm of her hand.

"Ouch," Blaine mutters as she prods around his waist, marking where she'll have to tailor. "Could you be a bit more careful? Goddamn."

Maria doesn't respond, but shoots him a nervous glare.

Blaine gives an irritated sigh, standing straight as he waits for Maria to be finished with him. She pokes and pulls just a few more times, her fingers shaking as she tries to figure out the tailor shape quickly. As soon as she pulls away, Blaine shrugs the jacket off quickly and hands it to her with a shove. She takes it and stumbles back rushing to her workspace.

"You could be a little nicer to her," Jeff says quietly glancing after the young girl.

"Why?" Blaine asks with a scoff. "She's just another stylist. They all leave eventually. Last one only lasted two days."

"You gotta learn to respect people, Blaine," Jeff says with a sigh.

"Yeah, and when are people going to respect me?" Blaine asks, raising his eyebrows. "God, you're my best friend and you starting to rag on me more than Quinn."

Jeff shakes his head, taking a deep breath. "I'm just being honest, Blaine. You know I'll always have your back – but you're not the same, kind, ambitious guy you were a few years ago."

"Yeah, that was before," Blaine snaps back. "That was before fame ruined my life."

"No," Jeff disagrees. "That was before you let it."

Blaine stops in his tracks; that certainly got his attention. He turns, looking at Jeff with an expression that finally looks like understanding in his eyes.

"What are you saying?" he asks.

Jeff shrugs. "Just think about," he replies, and he walks away down the hall, making his way back to Quinn's office.

.

.

Blaine sits in front of the mirror, really looking at himself.

His suit is nice and trim, and his hair is perfectly fluffed up, his eyes sparkling mischievously. On the outside, he looks just like any other Hollywood icon – happy and flawless, but on the inside, he knows he's broken beyond repair.

He takes another swig, finishing off his first of many bottles and then chucks it in a trashcan outside the room as he races outside to meet his limousine.

.

.

The bright lights are nothing strange to Blaine. Neither is the long red carpet, or the flashing cameras. The hordes of paparazzi or the legions of fans. He's gone through this process a thousand times before, and yet, it never gets any easier. He hates being here and strutting down the carpet, flashing his award-winning smile, doing interviews, and making conversation with other celebrities.

Basically, he just hates to pretend to be somebody he's not.

He carefully shoves the limo door open, making sure his sunglasses are on securely before stumbling out onto the street. Screams assault his ears as everyone turns to see him, reaching out, desperate for a passing touch. He ignores everyone, simply moving straight forward on until the cameras start to capture him. His lips turn up into a small smirk, and he walks a little taller, letting his instincts take over and fool everybody.

The lights glare at him, bearing down, but he smiles wide, coming to stop at the edge of the carpet and stands with his hands in his pockets, posing for the flashes. His name is called over and over, and every so often he glances in a different direction, making the fans feel like they're known.

The buzz of the alcohol starts to kick in, and his confidence grows.

He looks down the line of celebrities, trying to pick out who he'll talk to tonight, who'll get the press and the fans riled up the most. He spots the new breakout singer, Sam Evans, and America's hottest It couple – musical theatre legend, Rachel Berry, and rock n' roll drummer, Finn Hudson. He'll probably go for Rachel – create some scandalous news articles about how he and her are suddenly hooking up, though they'll only be sharing a few words and maybe a laugh and a cheesy smile tonight.

A few hundred feet away, Quinn and Jeff stand on the sidelines, waiting anxiously for Blaine. They watch as he crosses the huge television screens, holding their breath.

"Oh, god, he better not mess this up," Quinn says, curling her hand up by her mouth.

"I tried," Jeff assures. "Let's just pray that it works."

Blaine takes a step forward, finally acknowledging some fans and takes a permanent marker, signing as many things as he can, and thanking every person that offers him a compliment, though it feels like all he's hearing are lies.

He takes a few pictures, shakes a couple hands, and then turns back toward the paparazzi, waiting his turn for interviews.

Within a moment, a cameraman is approaching him, talking in a low voice

"Can you wait just a second?" he asks politely. "McKenzie will get to you as soon as she's finished with Finchel."

Blaine gives an irritated nod, shooing him away as he smiles a few more times, glancing over and watching until Finn and Rachel are done being interviewed. McKenzie turns towards the camera, an artificial smile on her face.

"Alright, well thank you Rachel – thank you, Finn. You two are adorable and I hope you have a great time tonight."

Finn and Rachel smile, waving as they walk away and down the carpet.

"And up next we have none other than newfound badboy, Blaine Anderson."

She walks over to him, the camera following, and Blaine offers a lips-only smile.

"So, Blaine," she starts. "How does it feel to be America's new badboy?"

Quinn puts a hand over her chest just down the carpet, muttering, "C'mon, Blaine. C'mon, Blaine."

"Well," he starts, shifting his weight. "I don't really think of myself as a badboy."

"Oh, come on," McKenzie presses. "Drinking and partying, getting caught with drugs – you don't think doing things like that all the time makes you a badboy? Especially in those leather jackets of yours – _damn_."

Blaine shakes his head. "Not really," he replies. "I'm jus' – I'm doing what eve'yone else is doing – ya know? It's just the fame that throws people off."

"Oh dear, God," Quinn mutters, catching the slur in his voice. She turns to Jeff, grabbing his sleeve and squeezing her fist. "He's drunk – he's drunk, isn't he?"

"I – " Jeff looks toward the screen. "I don't know."

"Well, everyone seems to think you're pretty badass," McKenzie says with a sly grin.

"Yeah," Blaine says slowly. "But I don't think anyone knows me."

"What do you mean?" McKenzie asks.

And Quinn puts her face into the palms of her hands, shaking her head.

"Blaine, don't screw this up. So help me God, Blaine, I will fucking slit your throat."

"Nobody sees me outside o' fame," Blaine replies. "I prob'ly seem happy with my life, right? Well, I don't really like it. I don' . . want to be here a lot of the time."

"So are you saying you don't appreciate - ?"

"Oh God," Quinn shrieks into her hands.

"No, no," Blaine assures, cutting her off. "O' course I 'preciate my fans. I jus' don't like my job sometimes. It sucks."

"Well, don't we all," McKenzie says with a smirk. "And let me just ask you one more question, Blaine – the one everyone's waiting for. What are you wearing?"

Blaine thinks a moment, scratching his head. "Uh – Armin – Armani?" he says. "Yeah, I think tha's it."

"Well, we love it," McKenzie replies. "It's sleek and oh-so-slimming."

"Yeah," Blaine laughs. "I's tight." He pulls at his collar. "Very tight – uncomfortable." He steps up, reaching out and grabbing McKenzie's mic, pulling it toward himself. "You're fired, by the way, Maria," he says, letting out a little, hysterical laugh. "I'm not kidding – don't come into work tomorrow."

McKenzie laughs along with him, taking her mic back. "Well, there you have it, ladies and gentlemen – Blaine Anderson, America's new badboy."

"I ain't a badboy," Blaine shouts, but the camera's already moving away, and he stumbles – almost tripping – as he tries to get walking down the aisle again.

"Oh my god," Quinn breathes. She turns to Jeff in panic. "Please tell me he didn't – not on national television."

"Well, I think he did," Jeff replies, his expression just as shocked.

"I'm going to kill him," Quinn replies. "He is so, totally _dead_."

.

.

Quinn tears through the heated room, Jeff following after her.

People sway and grind and actually dance around her, glasses of champagne and glass bottles slopping around in their hands. Her eyes narrow and her face is flushed with warmth as she stalks around, looking everywhere for Blaine.

"Where _is_ he?" she hisses.

"Well, I don't see where else he could be other than the bar," Jeff replies. "All he wanted was to get drunk tonight."

"Well, he managed that a little early," Quinn retorts, her voice filled with acid. "Now I want my chance to kill him."

"I don't see him anywhere on the dance floor," Jeff says. "Maybe he's getting it off in the bathroom."

Quinn snorts. "If he gets someone pregnant, I'll not only end his life – I'll bring him back and then kill him again . . three times."

They keep searching, and as the room seems to get more crowded, Quinn reaches out, grabbing Jeff's hand and pulls him along. He ignores the blush he feels creep up his neck and chases after her, keeping their fingers locked tightly.

At last when she's too frustrated, she turns back to face him. "You know what, this is pointless. I'm going to go outside and call him again – see if he won't answer. Will you try to get Maria on the phone again – I need to know she's coming back."

Jeff nods and regretfully lets go of her hand. They push past people, Jeff searching for a place he can call Maria, and Quinn trying desperately to get outside. At last Quinn stumbles out onto the concrete, the cool night air feeling good against her skin. She pulls out her phone as she walks around the side of the building, dialing Blaine's phone number before putting it up to her ear.

She lets it ring only once before realizing she doesn't have to call him.

Just around the corner, she hears kissing noises and it should be no surprise when she sees Blaine lip -locked with some random girl, pushing up her shirt as he runs his fingers along her abdomen.

"Blaine," she says sharply, but it's as if neither of them hears her.

"Oh, for God's sake," she mutters before moving stomping forward, and pulling Blaine backward by his suit jacket.

He looks towards her, eyebrows creasing and a glazed look in his bloodshot eyes.

Quinn glares at the girl a moment, waiting for her to leave. "Well, get out of here," she snaps, and the girl scampers off.

"Blaine, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Quinn asks angrily, letting go of him – well, more like throwing him.

"Kissin' a girl," he replies. He stumbles backward, straight into the wall. His hand flies up, clutching the side of his head. "Ugh . . my head," he mutters. "I feel . . dizzy."

Quinn jumps backwards before it even happens, guessing immediately.

Blaine doubles over, vomiting all over the ground, and Quinn simply shakes her head and closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. As soon as Blaine's finished, she steps around the puke, grabbing him by the forearm and pulling him along.

"Come on," she hisses. "I'm taking you home. You're limousine is just down the block."

As she drags him along, she calls Jeff, praying that he's figured things out with Maria.

"Hello?" he asks.

"Hey – I found him," Quinn says bitterly.

"Where?"

"Oh, just making out with some girl behind the bar," she replies almost cheerfully. "He then proceeded to hurl all over the ground."

"Uhh – pleasant," Jeff replies.

"Did you get a hold of Maria?" Quinn asks, almost afraid of the answer.

"Yeah," Jeff replies, but his tone doesn't imply anything good. "We have a bit of a problem there."

"Why?" Quinn asks, and she gives Blaine a jerk as he begins to slump.

"I tried to explain to her that everything was fine – that she isn't fired, but she quit," Jeff replies. "She mentioned being afraid of Blaine abusing her or something. I think he's terrified her quite a bit."

"Oh dear God," Quinn sighs. "Well, I suppose I'll have to find someone else. I mean, this is only the eighteenth stylist he's fired in the last six weeks. And I mean, that's pretty good compared to the amount of personal assistants and interns we've gone through."

Jeff makes a noise between a scoff and a little half-laugh.

"He's so going to fucking get it tomorrow," Quinn threatens under her breath. "Can you meet us out in the limo? And take him home from there? I guess I'll be spending the night trying to find a new stylist."

"Sure thing," Jeff replies. "I'll be out there in a sec."

Quinn hangs up, shoving her phone back in her pocket, and as they reach the limo, throws Blaine unceremoniously in a backseat, slamming the door after him before grabbing a seat ahead of him, saving the one beside her for Jeff.

.

.

Quinn gives a sigh as she hangs up the phone yet again.

She can feel a migraine beating behind her eyes, and she closes them, reaching up and pressing a finger to the skin between her eyebrows.

She's been searching through resumes of previous applicants, looking for someone to replace Maria – someone who will hopefully stay longer than two days. The pile is dwindling, and she's getting to the last group of people. She pulls someone from the top, looking over their experience and their essay.

And it clicks.

This person just may be it.

She remembers him – snarky and sarcastic, but charming at the same time. He has the attitude and the stubborn personality to counter Blaine – she just knows he won't back down. He'll fight Blaine, she's hoping - knock a little sense into him.

It's late, she knows, but she just wants to get it over with, so she dials his number, heart pounding and hands shaking.

He answers on the first ring.

"Hello?"

"Hi," she says cheerfully. "Is this Kurt Hummel?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** FINALLY. This is what I've been working on for over a month, and I was going to wait until I'd finished writing chapter five to post, but I caved and posted a chapter earlier. Honestly, I don't think I've ever planned a fic this much ahead and in depth, so I'm really excited to be writing this.

Thank you so much to my lovely betas, Stephanie and Jasmine - I adore you two. (:


	2. Chapter 2

**two.**

* * *

><p>Kurt hangs up the phone, his fingers trembling. A ball of excitement is rising in his chest, and he feels the urge to scream.<p>

He's working for _Blaine Anderson_ -_ the_ Blaine Anderson.

And no, it's not really about the fact that he's an amazing, dreamy, hunky movie star - because, in actuality, Kurt kind of thinks the guy seems like an outright asshole. He seems like a spoiled brat, always wanting more and never being sincere. Kurt's less excited about the prospect of working near him, rather than working _for_ him.

Because working for him - that's a different story.

Blaine is famous, yes, and Kurt's going to use that to his career advantage. This is Kurt's chance to really show the fashion world he knows what he's doing and that he has loads of talent. And it only helps that Quinn's giving him free reign of her client.

As soon as he's regained control of his in-shock body, Kurt tosses his cell phone on his bed and races to his desk, pulling out stacks of paper and handfuls of regular and colored pencils. His hand flies across the paper, sketching out rough images of a body, dressed in various outfits and types of clothing. Kurt's mind is filled with images of Blaine and different trends and fads that he's seen sweeping through magazines and on runways.

Oh yes, this job is going to be _amazing._

.

.

Blaine rolls over slowly, groaning.

He peels open his eyes, his brain fuzzy with confusion. The small amount of light that reaches his eyes burns, and he squints out over the room. A fierce, steady pounding reverberates through his skull and it takes him a long moment to realize where he is.

He's not at home, he knows that.

And with a both terrified and annoyed jolt, he realizes he's at his parents' house, tucked away in his old bedroom. How he got there - he has no idea. He props himself carefully on his elbow as he tries to remember what had happened last night, ignoring the pain in his head.

The premiere comes back to him easily, and he recalls the interview, knowing that can't have gone well, and he chuckles a little as he wonders what exactly he said. After that things seem extremely blurry. He can only remember the night in flashes. Sitting through the movie, scoping out the audience for somebody he can spend the rest of the night with - maybe fuck if they're interested. The after party where he downs an impressive amount of vodka. Finding some random girl on the dance floor and bringing her outside where he shoves his tongue down her throat.

And then Quinn comes in. He can remember her shouting, and then after that all he can recall is Jeff carrying somewhere . . .

He swears under his breath, cursing Jeff.

But honestly, he should've expected Jeff to do something like this. It's obvious everyone believes Blaine is losing control, and maybe he is - it was only a matter of time before his parents were involved to set him straight. He knows that this should be a good thing, that maybe he'll finally stop acting like this, but he also knows this is just going to be hell.

Jeff tries. Jeff tries to be helpful and look out for his best friend, but sometimes he just doesn't know what's good for Blaine. Sometimes he just doesn't know the whole story.

Blaine really doesn't get along with his parents.

He used to - when he was young and fame wasn't part of his life and he went to school like a normal kid, having trouble making friends and getting bullied by older kids on the playground. It wasn't until he picked up acting in the fourth grade that everything changed.

The two of them saw something in Blaine - talent, potential, a star - and that's when they invested everything they could in his career. Blaine can remember one rainy Saturday that his father woke him very early in the morning and they drove for what felt like eternity until they reached Los Angeles, California. Blaine went into a small room filled with adults. He read a script and pretended to cry, and just like that, he had his first major role at age ten. The family picked up and moved from Washington to California only a week later, and that's the way it's been ever since.

Blaine's parents control his career - even now at age twenty-one, and he has a feeling they're always going to have some say in these matters whether he wants them to or not. And he knows that especially now, when he's falling so hard, losing everything he has, they're going to be smug and superior, they'll have Blaine strung up by puppet strings, making him do whatever they see fit.

And it's all going to raise hell. Because Blaine hates listening to them. He doesn't like a single one of their ideas and they can never come to an agreement. In the end it just ends in a shouting match with Blaine storming out and fuming until he inevitably comes back to his parents waiting with expectant expressions on their faces, knowing that Blaine's come to surrender.

Blaine hates this whole process. He hates his career, and his life, and he thinks some days that the world would just be better off without his ungrateful, jerk-ish ass.

Slowly, Blaine's eyes grow accustomed to the light, and for awhile, he simply stares at the ceiling, not wanting to move. His head is still aching, and his stomach is in knots, and he knows that if he finally goes to address his parents, things will only grow worse.

But he knows eventually that he'll have to. He needs to get this over with and face something for once in his life. They'll barge into his room at some point, so why not head into this fight on his own terms?

The clock on the plain bedside table shows that the day is entering afternoon, and with a heavy sigh, Blaine pulls the covers off of himself, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

"Here we go," he mutters under his breath before standing up. He's unsteady on his feet, leaning against the bed for support. But as he stands there for a moment, the position becomes natural again, and he's walking toward the bedroom door, still dressed in his wrinkled suit pants and untucked button-up shirt.

His parents' voices reach his ears as he moves carefully down the hall, becoming more nauseous with each passing second. They're in the living room, and of course Blaine hears his name mentioned.

"You think they'd really go for that, though?" his mother asks.

"Please, if they want to have him, they will," his father replies. "This isn't some low-grade film, Clara."

Blaine's eyebrows crease together, and he's filled with curiosity. He moves faster, at last coming out of his hiding spot.

Both of them turn as his footsteps creak over the wooden floors. He stops and stands there awkwardly, waiting for them to speak.

"Well, good morning, Blaine," his father says at last, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips. "Or should I say, good afternoon?"

Blaine presses his lips together, nodding - though he's not exactly sure what he's nodding for.

"Did you sleep well?" his father continues.

Blaine gives an irritated sigh. "How about we don't beat around the bush?" he tries to keep the annoyance out of his voice. "We all know I'm about to receive a long-ass lecture."

"Language," his mother says, but Blaine ignores her.

"Come here," Blaine's father says, and Blaine takes a deep breath before moving forward, running a hand through his greasy hair. He takes a seat in one of the chairs across from them, clasping his hands together nervously in his lap.

"Yeah?" Blaine asks, feeling himself shrink a little inside as both of his parents simply stare at him.

"Obviously, you need to change some things," Alan Anderson starts, shifting his weight.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Blaine says dismissively. "Quinn and Jeff have been nagging me relentlessly all week."

"Well, considering last night, that's not making much of a difference, is it?" Alan asks.

Blaine squirms, biting his cheek.

"You need to some serious adjusting, son," Alan continues. "We know this life isn't easy, but you can't rely on alcohol or drugs to get through it. It's not going to make anything better or easier."

Blaine wants to counter, but he bites his tongue, keeping his mouth shut.

"Now, we know we can't make you do anything - "

_That's a lie_, Blaine thinks.

"But we need to do something regarding your career."

And that's when it really starts to hit Blaine all over again. His career. It's always about his career. He knows when Quinn and Jeff lecture him, they always have his health and his well-being in their minds first, but with his parents? It's the exact opposite. They don't care about him - all they care about is his career and moving him forward and making money. And as his agents, they make quite a lot.

He tries to never show how much this affects him, but sometimes it's hard. It's hard when your own flesh and blood only see you as a project, a business, something to control. And sometimes, it just really gets to him - makes him feel so, so worthless in reality, and sometimes, all he wants is to just give up.

He shakes it off, returning his parents' gaze. "And how would we do that?" he asks, tired, bitter.

"Well," Clara starts, "We've been looking into different auditions and we think we've found the one that could really turn everything around."

"For my career," Blaine clarifies, and he hates that glazed look in his parents' eyes - so focused on what he does rather than who he is.

"Yes," Clara says. "And we want you to come to a meeting with the casting director tomorrow. If we play our cards right, they won't consider casting anyone else but you."

"Great," Blaine says. "But what if I don't want to do it?"

"Well," Alan laughs. "You're going to." He pauses for a moment, his expression melting into one of seriousness. "This isn't a joke, Blaine. This is something you might really want to consider. You're having a difficult time right now, we know. But maybe getting back to work will help."

"What are you talking about?" Blaine snaps. "I work all the time. I'm always going to premieres and events and doing interviews - it never ends."

Alan sighs, pausing again. "Maybe you need to get out and act then. Blaine, this is going to be good for you - we promise."

"How do you know?" Blaine asks, his voice starting to grow louder. "Do you even_ know_ me? Do you pay attention to me at all? Listen to what I have to say? No - you don't, so how do you know that?"

"Blaine, please," Clara says. "Sweetie, calm down - "

"Don't call me that," Blaine says sharply. "You have no right to call me that."

"Stop, Blaine," Alan says forcefully. "Take a moment and listen to us."

Blaine scoffs. "Why?" he asks. "Where have you been these past few months? Where have you been all my life? Oh, right - chatting on the phone with directors and producers and anyone that's going to expand my fucking career. Because that's all you see me for - just another actor you can order around. Not your son. Never your son."

"Honey, of course we see you as - "

Blaine cuts off his mother again. "No - stop! Stop calling me things like that. Stop acting like you care, because I know you don't!"

He's on his feet, fists balled at his sides as he breathes heavily, letting up all his pent-up anger with them spill out.

"Not once have you ever put forth the effort to actually parent me," Blaine says. "I've been raised by directors and producers and publicists. Never you."

Nobody says anything for a moment. Blaine stands there, grinding his teeth and breathing hard. His parents watch him, unsure of what to say, and Blaine likes to assume it's because they know he's right.

"Are you done?" Alan asks, and Blaine wants to lose it. It appears they haven't gotten the message after all.

"Holy shit," Blaine breathes. "Wow. Just fucking wow."

"Blai - "

"What's the movie?" he asks, just wanting to make them happy so he can leave and get them out of his sight. "I want to see the script."

"You'll see it tomorrow," Alan replies. "At the meeting."

"I'm sure you'll love it," Clara adds, and Blaine just laughs humorlessly.

He's right, and they know it.

They just don't want to admit it.

.

.

Blaine walks aimlessly around the estate, his wrinkled clothes from the night before hanging loosely off of his body and his shoes shoved on his feet. He feels gross, he really does, with his hair messy and greasy, his skin sticky with sweat, and the effects of his latest hangover making him sick.

Others may believe he's losing control, but this has become his new normal. He's used to this feeling, used to this pattern of waking up confused, hoping desperately that he hadn't done something completely stupid the night before, and then struggling to act professional and get through the rest of the day.

The weather is nice today - sun shining high in the sky, the air warm but dry, and a gentle breeze blows around. He squints as he walks along the stone path the curves around the house and the never-ending yard. Hedges and shrubs grow in neat little rows and decorative clusters, and Blaine finds himself missing the secluded area of his own home - buried deep in tall trees.

He feels so tired right now. So exhausted of his life, and he's honestly just sick of dealing with everything and everyone. He needs a break, but as usual, to his parents that means simply going back to work - taking a break from the paparazzi to go and act.

No. He doesn't want to do this. He wants to leave. He wants to go back home to Washington. He wants to lie in his old backyard, swallowed by a hammock and just sit there, feeling the cool air wash over him and listening to the sounds of the birds instead of the sounds of people shouting his name and cameras clicking.

But that's not going to happen any time soon and he's just going to have to deal with it. Figure out a way to find some sort of peace in this hellhole.

He heaves a sigh, stopping next to a stone bench. He brushes it off before he takes a seat, leaning forward and clasping his hands together. He sits, listening to the peaceful sounds of the early afternoon, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. When he can still feel the tightness in his chest and the uneasiness in his stomach, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone – which is almost dead.

He hits speed dial number two, pulling it up to his ear, and he waits.

"Hello?" Jeff answers after the second ring.

"Hi," Blaine says tiredly.

Jeff's voice is immediately defensive. "Okay, don't kill me, but as your best friend, it's my job to look after you, and – and I'm just worried, Blaine. I know you didn't want to move back in, but I'm scared. You need help, and it was the only way I could really help you get it. You won't listen to me or Quinn, and – "

Blaine chuckles, almost half-heartedly. "Jeff, I'm not mad," he says calmly, and Jeff breathes a sigh of relief. "Well," Blaine pauses, "I'm not mad with you. I know you were just trying to help."

"Then – what's wrong?" Jeff asks. "You sound – you sound really upset."

"My parents," Blaine says with a sigh. "As usual. Woke up this morning – stumbled into the living room with an awful hangover, and they tell me I'm auditioning for a movie tomorrow." He scoffs, shaking his head. "All they care about is my career."

"You don't know that," Jeff tries.

"But I do," Blaine says firmly. "When I say Quinn cares about my job more than me, when I say you use me for my fame – I'm never serious. I do know that you guys care about me – but – but I don't know that my parents do. Since I was ten, it's always been about growing bigger, getting more jobs, getting more attention. That's all it'll ever be from now on."

Jeff lets out a sigh and is quiet for a moment. "I don't – I don't know what to tell you, Blaine."

"It's okay," Blaine says. "You don't have to. I just – I need to talk with Quinn – ask her what she thinks. Do – do you think you could pick me up and take me down to her office?"

Jeff doesn't hesitate. "Of course."

"Ah, but damn – I don't have any other clothes," Blaine mutters, pulling at his wrinkled shirt.

"We can stop by your place on the way there," Jeff assures. "Be ready – I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thanks," Blaine says sincerely.

"Of course," Jeff replies.

.

.

Kurt looks in the mirror, straightening his tie and runs his hands down his chest, smoothing his jacket. Everything is pristine and perfect – he's ready. He's calm, he's confident, he's collected.

He turns away, walking back towards his desk where he picks up his portfolio, stuffed with designs and awards and even samples of fabric. He opens it, running his finger through the papers and making sure every last thing is there – it really wouldn't matter much, but he doesn't want to be forgetting anything.

As he heads out of his apartment, he snatches his keys from the coffee table, dangling them loosely in his fingers. He takes a deep breath before opening the door and stepping out into the hallway.

Here he goes.

.

.

Jeff's car rolls into the sketchy back parking lot, and Blaine breathes a sigh of relief. Just being here makes him feel safe and at ease. The open window sends a breeze through the car as it comes to a stop, and Blaine's T-shirt ruffles over his skin; he's feeling so much better (physically – the emotional part still needs working on). He gets out of Jeff's car, stretching and then ruffling his hair, ready to face another day of lectures and nagging.

He walks slowly to the side door of the building, following after Jeff and sipping on the coffee he'd managed to badger Jeff into stopping to get for him. They ride up the elevator and Blaine closes his eyes, resting his head against the wall and he simply breathes, relaxing for just a moment. He really needs more moments to himself, more time to be alone.

If he never gets that, how is he supposed to recover and figure out who he truly is?

Because honestly, he's so unsure.

He's been somebody else since the age of ten, always putting on a mask and being this character or that, never taking the time to find out who he is – who Blaine Anderson really is and who he wants to be. It's kind of daunting to him in reality, because sometimes he thinks he won't like who he is. He thinks he'll be disappointed and just keep wishing he was someone else. Like it will never end and he'll never be happy with the person he is. However, he can't say he knows yet, because he's never tried. And really, anything has to be better than who he is now.

The door clings open and Blaine walks through tiredly, continuing down the hall and falling into his element. He reaches Quinn's office door before Jeff and throws it open, strutting forward, planning to collapse into his usual seat.

"Hey, Quinn," he says. "I was just talking to my parents, and shit, have we got to talk." He turns to sit down and then freezes, backing up.

Quinn huffs, rolling her eyes.

"Who the hell is this?" Blaine asks, eyeing the man sitting in his chair. He's tall and slender, with perfectly coiffed hair and sparkling, blue-green eyes. He sits with an air of authority, almost coming off as haughty.

"This," Quinn says, "is your new stylist – Kurt Hummel."

Kurt stands up, offering Blaine a smirk and holds out his hand, still shining with confidence, unlike so many others that had worked for Blaine. "Pleased to meet you," he says.

Blaine begrudgingly reaches out, giving his hand a shake. "Hmmph," he says, not really sure if it's an agreement or some sort of scoff.

"We were just discussing a few things," Quinn continues, "regarding your schedule and your wardrobe."

"Well, have you added a whole movie to my schedule yet?"

"What?" Quinn asks, her eyebrows creasing together.

Blaine waits a second, and when Kurt doesn't move, turns to him, raising his eyebrows and giving his head a shake. "Well?" he asks.

"What?" Kurt retorts, just as much sass in his voice.

"Aren't you going to leave?" Blaine asks.

"You interrupted_ my_ meeting," Kurt replies simply, and sits gracefully back down in his seat.

Blaine's eyes widen and he cocks his hips, pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek. "Alright," he scoffs. "Let's take care of that then." He turns to Quinn. "Kick 'im out, will you?"

"Uhh... no," Quinn replies, her tone agitated. "He's right – I scheduled this meeting and you'll just have to wait a second."

"Fine," Blaine says, irritated, and he backs up, grumbling as he moves over to the doorway, glaring fiercely at the back of Kurt's head.

"Alright," Quinn says, turning back to him. "You have your schedule, and honestly – you don't have to be here every one of those days. You can work on the outfits at home or wherever. All you need is to be here a few hours or so before each event so you can get Blaine ready."

"Okay," Kurt says, looking over the piece of paper in his hand. He's quiet for a second as he moves his finger down the dates, mouthing words to himself. "I just have one question," he says, looking back up at Quinn.

Blaine lets out an obnoxious sigh, rolling his eyes in a large movement. Both Quinn and Kurt turn slowly to look at him, their eyes showing nothing but annoyance and incredulousness. They stare for just a moment, until Blaine asks, "What?"

Kurt looks back to Quinn. "I guess I'll be going now."

"I'm sorry," Quinn sighs, reaching out to grip his hand.

"It's fine," Kurt assures with a laugh. "I can see he has the patience of a toddler. And as I do not, so I'd be more than happy to call you later."

Quinn chuckles, letting go of him. "Don't worry – I'm sure you'll have plenty of fun working here."

"I'm sure I will," Kurt replies, returning a laugh.

"I'm right here!" Blaine says loudly, holding out his arms.

"I know," Kurt says with a sly grin, and he wishes Quinn one last goodbye before stalking towards the door. He stops right at Blaine. "You've got a bit of cream on your lip," he says, and Blaine reaches up, rubbing his hand roughly over his lips to get rid of it. "And you spilled coffee on your T-shirt," Kurt continues, almost sad. "I'm afraid you'll have to be much more careful with the clothes I dress you in."

And with that, he's out the door, and Blaine has no idea what's just hit him.

.

.

"I mean – do you think I should go through with this?"

Quinn gives a sigh. Blaine rarely comes to her for advice. Blaine rarely opens up and shows his vulnerable side, but when he does need help, he tends to rely on her, and she hates to let him down.

"I don't know if I can tell you that," she says at last. "I can't answer for you Blaine. This is your decision."

Blaine glares at her a moment before leaning back in his seat and expelling a heavy breath. "But I don't know what to do," he whines. "That's why I asked you."

"And I can't decide," Quinn reiterates. "It's your life, it's your job. Not mine."

"Okay," Blaine says, sitting up. "Well, as my publicist, what do you think I should do? Just – think."

Quinn almost smirks, shaking her head. "As your publicist," she starts. "I think this movie would be a great step for your career. I think it would be a heavy role to take, but I know you could pull it off. Now, as your friend," she says, "I have to say that I'm not sure how it would affect your health. So let me ask you, what would this do for your stress level?"

Blaine stops a moment, thinking.

Honestly, he does like the idea of getting back out there, getting another role under his belt and focusing on lines and performance rather than trying to stop himself from drinking and smoking and planning interviews and actions in front of the camera. Of course it would only increase his publicity level, but he thinks that maybe this could be a good chance for him – a chance to turn everything around and rehabilitate himself.

"I – I don't know," he sighs.. "Maybe it will be good for me – probably, but I just – I think that maybe I - I need to do this."

"Why?" Quinn presses.

"I think that maybe I should get back to acting. I'm spending too much time worrying about other things – I have too much time to drink and party and screw things up."

Quinn smiles slightly. "Well, there you go."

"So I'm doing this?" Blaine asks, unsure. "I'm going to the audition tomorrow?"

"If you think you should," Quinn replies.

Though he'd rather not surrender to his parents once again, Blaine's thinking of this more as something he needs to do for himself, and he's doing it – he's auditioning tomorrow. The first step in turning his life around.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Oh. My. Goodness. Thank you all so much for the support I've been getting. Over 60 of you have this on alert after chapter one? Seriously? As a notoriously picky reader, especially when it comes to WIPs - this just means a lot to me, so thank you!

Hope you enjoyed chapter two!


	3. Chapter 3

**three.**

* * *

><p>Blaine's up early.<p>

His eyes ache and he feels dizzy, but there's no hope for sleep now. He's too nervous, and slightly excited. He knows that with his parents' manipulation skills, the bribery they aren't afraid to perform, and maybe, slightly his own acting skills, he's got this audition in the bag. But this is much more than just another audition.

He slips out of his bedroom, out into the hallway and past his parent's bedroom. He throws his sneakers on and steps carefully outside, walking around in the dew-tainted grass and chilled, morning air. The sun is just rising, casting a soft glow over everything, and it's odd – Blaine's now gone a full day without alcohol, and though he's feeling kind of sick, he's also feeling peaceful.

It's different, but he likes it, and maybe this is going to be easier than Blaine thought. Maybe it is possible for him to enjoy things while being sober. Maybe.

A light breeze blows around Blaine and he shivers, crossing his bare arms. He looks around as he walks slowly, taking in the view – which is actually quite beautiful. He rarely gets a chance to take breath**e**, let alone see where he is, and it's a nice change. He runs a hand through his curls, yawning hugely.

Now is the perfect time to think, but as thoughts and questions and worries rain down on him, he starts to feel overwhelmed, so instead he pushes everything from his mind, just letting himself feel. Letting the chill of the air tickle his skin, letting the light from the sun heat up his cheekbones, letting the long, dew-filled grass skim his ankles.

He sighs, almost feeling content – happy even, and he feels himself growing calm.

He's going to get through today – he will. And after today he'll get through the rest of his life. He's going to get better, he promises himself that. Whether it takes a few months or many years, he's going to get better.

.

.

Kurt's fingers curl tightly around the cup of coffee, warming up against the hot cardboard. He brings the cup up to his lips, carefully taking a sip. Now, balancing it on top of a stack of papers and folders, he digs in his pocket, pulling out his keys before he unlocks the door and wrenches it open. At last, he collapses at his desk, throwing everything on top of it.

He scoots carefully forward, crossing his legs underneath his desk. He pulls out papers and looks over them, re-organizing his folder's contents. He's having a hard time choosing what he wants Blaine to wear today. He's narrowed it down, but he has so many ideas, so many different combinations to choose from.

It's his first official day of work, and he's determined to make it count – to make an impression.

And he knows the hardest thing is really dealing with Blaine – who's so self-centered and defiant and who Kurt is almost afraid to be with for more than a few minutes. Not for himself though – for Blaine. Things may turn violent, he can already tell.

But nevertheless, he's excited. He might finally get some recognition in the fashion world, displaying all his talent in the form of Blaine Anderson's wardrobe. And it's also nice to have Quinn on his side, completely supportive of him. He knows that with her, it won't be easy for Blaine to touch him.

Or so he thinks.

.

.

It's not even noon yet, and his audition/meeting isn't until three, but Blaine paces around, restless and fidgety. It's always like this beforehand – his nerves are overwhelming and he can't concentrate on anything but lines and facial expressions and posture and movement.

After taking a deep breath, Blaine wraps his arms around his torso, hugging himself tightly. His stomach is positively churning, and he feels like he's one wrong movement away from puking all over the floor – and his lack of alcohol is not helping at all. He lets out a small groan, closing his eyes and trying to calm himself.

Sighing, he sits down on his bed carefully, opening his eyes again. He runs over a few common emotions in his head, making up improv in his mind as he goes.

He's got this.

He's most certainly got this.

Across the room, Blaine's cell phone vibrates on the dresser. He gets to his feet shakily and walks over to it. The Caller ID reads _Jeff Augustine_ and Blaine picks it up, pressing TALK as he says, "Hey."

"I'm coming to pick you up," Jeff says. "Quinn of course needs to talk to you before the meeting, and Kurt says he's got a good 'first-impression' outfit for you to wear. You ready?"

Blaine gives a humorless half-laugh. "As ready as I'll ever be."

"Good," Jeff replies, and then pauses. "Stop worrying," he says. "You'll get the part."

"How do you know?" Blaine counters.

"Because I've lived in Hollywood for half of my life. There are certain ways it works here, Blaine. And when you're an A-list movie star like yourself, parts practically get you."

Blaine lets out a real chuckle now, smiling slightly. "I certainly wish that was the case," he replies. "But I don't know. My rep's kind of bad right now, so you never know. I'm pretty bitchy and demanding too. They might not want to deal with me."

Jeff laughs. "Oh, please. When you've got the talent you do, I don't think anything else matters to casting directors and producers."

"Well, I hopethey think so," Blaine replies, and then stops a second. "That sounds terrible, but it's true."

Jeff laughs again. "Alright, I have to go, but I'll be there in about twenty minutes."

"See you then," Blaine replies, and he hangs up, feeling much better after their conversation.

However that reassurance hardly lasts, and by the time Jeff shows up, Blaine's already downed one bottle of beer, and is halfway through his second. He jogs outside as he sees the car pulling up to the estate, and tosses his bottle in of the trash bins outside after taking one last sip. He slips into the passenger's seat, a tangy taste on his tongue and a buzzing feeling running through his veins.

.

.

Kurt looks around as the door to his small office-ish room (it's really more like a closet; a small room expanding off from Blaine's dressing room) opens with a bang. As predicted, it's Blaine, walking through a little unsteadily, Jeff following after him with a nervous expression on his face.

"Blaine, you okay?" Jeff asks, and Blaine grunts in return.

"Alright, Hermey," Blaine says. "You got something for me?"

Kurt scowls, and self-conscious, he reaches a hand up to his ear. He blushes furiously, but stands up, moving over to one of the many clothing racks. He yanks a hanger with Blaine's outfit from it and practically throws it to him.

"There you go," he says bitterly, and then smirks, adding, "Frodo."

Blaine gives a sarcastic smile, laughing humorlessly through his closed mouth before he heads back for his dressing room.

"Let me know if the pants are too long," Kurt calls after him, and the door slams in return.

It's been only an hour into his first day of work and already Kurt wants to punch a wall. He knew working with (insert mock fangirl voice here) _Blaine Anderson_ would be difficult, but he didn't know it would be this skin-crawling and infuriating.

With anger boiling inside him, it takes Kurt a second to see that Jeff stayed behind, hanging awkwardly by the closed door.

"He's such a peach," Kurt mutters, shaking his head.

"Ehh," Jeff says, standing up straighter. "He's not that bad once you get to know him."

Kurt snorts. "Like that's ever going to happen," he says, turning back towards his work.

"He just doesn't know how to treat the people who work for him – or anyone really," Jeff continues, walking slowly closer to Kurt.

"Then I am just utterly thrilled," Kurt says flatly.

"It won't be that bad," Jeff promises. "He really isn't as much of a jerk as he seems."

"Well, you have to say that," Kurt says simply. "He's your best friend. But he's not mine, so . . "

Jeff sighs. "Well, then I should know, shouldn't I?"

Kurt turns to look at him, almost glaring.

"Trust me," Jeff says. "He's a good guy underneath it all."

"Hmp," Kurt replies. "We'll just have to see then."

"You will," Jeff says, and Kurt decides to drop the conversation there, not wanting to argue with anyone else so soon.

The door to Kurt's office clicks open again, and Blaine walks through, buckling the belt on his straight-leg jeans. He reaches up, pulling on the collar of his slick, black blazer and looks to Kurt and Jeff.

"How do I look?"

Kurt stands up, walking up to him and eyeing him up and down. "Hmm," he muses. "Jeans are perfect – and they go great with the boots." He looks back up. "Yes – red looks great on you, and – " He leans forward, fixing the half-upturned collar and smoothes it down. Blaine stiffens at his touch and his lip curls slightly until Kurt pulls away again. "There."

"So.. ?" Blaine asks.

"You look professional," Kurt replies. "For once."

"Hummel, I swear to God," Blaine says, pointing his finger at Kurt's face. "Stop pushing me."

"I'm only dishing back what you're dishing out," Kurt says with a confident smirk on his lips.

Blaine presses his lips together, his nostrils flaring, and he lowers his hand. That's struck a nerve, because though he hates to admit it, Kurt's right. He is an asshole, and lately, he's just sick of hearing it thrown out there by everyone.

Kurt revels in his victory, smiling wider at Blaine's defeat.

"So – any ideas for my hair?" Blaine asks quietly.

"Ugh – plenty," Kurt replies, and leads the way back into Blaine's dressing room.

.

.

Blaine feels hands clamp down on his shoulders, fingers squeezing them and helping him relax. He looks up at Quinn, taking a deep breath.

"You've got this, Blaine," she says, her eyes full of sincerity. "Don't doubt yourself now – you're the most cocky person I've ever met – don't let that go."

Blaine cracks a shaky smile, nearly laughing.

"Seriously," Quinn continues. "Don't stress at all – this part is absolutely _yours_."

Blaine nods, biting his lip. "I've got this."

"You do," Quinn assures, she then pauses, her eyes narrowing. "You've had something to drink today, haven't you?"

Blaine flashes her a sheepish smile. "I'm sober enough."

"Oh, dear God," Quinn mutters, shaking her head and dropping her hands. "Well," she sighs. "You seem to be. Just – no more alcohol today, okay? Your ride's going to be here in twenty minutes – relax until then."

Blaine nods again – stepping back and turning to leave the room.

"Hey – " Quinn's voice reaches his ears as his fingers wrap around the doorknob.

He looks back at her.

"I believe in you."

Blaine freezes for just a second, and his lips turn into a shy smile – an emotion he hardly feels. This moment hits him with a shock – it's been a long time since he's heard something like that, so sincere and sweet and honest, directed at _him._

"Thanks," he says quietly, and Quinn smiles, nodding.

With a heavy weight pressing on his chest, he leaves her office, heading for his dressing room.

He's still hung up over Quinn's gentle words when he opens his door, laughter filling his ears. Instantly his sudden emotions dissipate and helooks curiously around the room, following the noise until he rounds to the open door that branches off into Kurt's office.

Jeff's still in there, joking around with Kurt – he's nearly double**d** over with laughter, his face red.

Blaine stops in the doorway, his eyebrows raised and his lips pressed together. He crosses his arms, glaring at Kurt until he glances up, catching Blaine's eye and freezing. His smile falls, and he sits up straight, clearing his throat. Jeff stands up, looking at Blaine with a sort of dulled shock on his face.

"Blaine – " he says, breathless – as if he's just been caught doing something much worse than sharing a laugh with someone.

"The limo leaves in fifteen minutes," Blaine says flatly. "So, Jeff, we better be going." He never takes his eyes off Kurt as he talks, narrowing his eyes, a threatening tone entering his voice.

"Right," Jeff says quickly and he scampers from the room, diving for his jacket in Blaine's bedroom.

Blaine and Kurt simply stare at each other for a moment, eyes blazing.

"I'm not an idiot, you know," Blaine says, voice quiet and filled with acid. "And you know – you probably shouldn't get too friendly with Jeff, because my stylists hardly ever last more than a week."

"I'm not just some ugly sweater you wear once and then throw away," Kurt says defiantly.** "**And I don't give up that easy."

"Well, you don't have to give up," Blaine says. "Because I can just fire you."

Kurt smirks. "No you can't," he says, crossing his arms. "I don't work for you – I work for the agency."

"Then you should just know that I usually get what I want." Blaine snickers, shaking his head. "Well," he sighs. "See you around, Kurt – or hopefully not."

He turns on his heel, slamming the door shut behind him.

.

.

Blaine walks down the hall, all his insecurities hidden away inside of him as he strides with confidence, paying no attention to anything but his destination. His chin is held up, his boots clacking against the elaborately tiled floors, and he feels that sense of being on top again. A smile threatens to tug at his lips, but he keeps his face straight.

Around the corner, and he enters a small hallway, numbered doors ranging through the 210s on both ends. Outside door 215 a small row of guys sits, papers held in their hands. They sit slumped and slouched, mouthing words to themselves, or with their head in their hands, or legs shaking as their eyes dart around.

As Blaine approaches, each head turns towards him, and just a few whispers sound.

"What are you doing here?" someone pipes up, bitter.

Blaine stops in his tracks, looking over the top of his sunglasses and** he** simply stares at the guy a moment before he replies, "Auditioning."

"Auditions were two weeks ago," the guy says. "These are callbacks."

"Well," Blaine says. "Then I guess I have a callback."

The guy ends the conversation with a snort, leaning back again, and Blaine turns his attention away him as the door to room 215 opens and out steps major producer, Rick Hemingway. He smiles as soon as he spots Blaine, walking forward with his arms open.

"Blaine," he says, the syllable long and luxurious.

Blaine gives him a manly hug, saying, "It's good to see you, Ricky."

"You too," Rick replies. "It's been too long, boy. Now come on in – we've got everything ready for you."

Blaine follows after him, taking off his sunglasses and putting them in his pocket, and as he walks past the line of guys, one of them mutters, "Damn – we are _screwed._" Blaine smiles, almost chuckling.

He couldn't be more right.

Rick leads him into a large, spacious room. The floor is open except for a panel at the other end of the room. Rick beckons Blaine forward and he follows, a confident grin on his face.

"This," Rick says, holding out his hand to the man on the far end of the table, whose hair is dark grey, his eyes a piercing blue, "is Collin Marks – incredible and amazing casting director, and the man you'd probably like to kiss up to, Blaine."

Blaine forces a laugh, sounding so sincere and he takes a step forward. He holds out his hand, giving Collin's a firm shake. "Actually, I've heard plenty of great things about you Mr. Marks."

"As have I about you," Collin replies. "All very wonderful, but lately – not so much."

Blaine pauses, rocking on his heels. "Well . . let me show you that I definitely haven't changed much – and if so, only gotten better."

"Oh ho," Collin says, raising his eyebrows as he hands Blaine a script. "Don't be afraid now – go ahead and show me what you've got."

"I'll be glad to," Blaine replies.

Collin smirks, almost laughing and Blaine turns swiftly, marching away from the table with a cocky smirk playing at his lips. He turns around when he's satisfied with the room he's given himself, and he clears his throat.

"Whenever you're ready," Rick says, and Blaine nods, closing his eyes for his second as he takes a deep breath.

And when he's opened them, he's completely transformed into someone else, all hints of Blaine gone from his eyes and his expression and his posture. He reads from the script, soaking every line in incredible amounts of emotion. He loses his expression in the character, letting all his feelings run wild with the story. And as he finishes, the panel erupts into applause, finally shaking Blaine back to himself.

"That was – _superb_," Rick says, stunned.

"Would you give us a second?" Collin asks, and Blaine nods, stepping out into the hall.

"How'd it go?" asks a bitter voice.

Blaine turns, looking at the guys still seated out there, and tries to keep some of the arrogance out of his expression and tone.

"Well," he says shortly, and he takes a step forward, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he waits for them to call him back in.

An unshakable smile is turning up his lips, and _damn _does it feel good. Because it has – it's been awhile since he's gone up and performed in front of people. It's been awhile since he's let himself slip into another person's shoes, masking himself and becoming someone decent. It's been awhile since he's affected people in this way – with his talent and his words and his expressions, rather than the way he lives his life.

It's a nice and pleasant change that he wants so badly to welcome back.

And yet there's still that nagging feeling – something at the back of his mind telling him that this isn't right. That there's something missing and he needs to fix it.

But right now he's not going to listen to that. He's going to do this – he's going to get this role, because it will help him find that path to get better, it will change things, and because no, he's not doing this for his parents, for his career, or for the press. He's doing it because he needs to do it for himself.

The door clicks open again, and Rick peaks his head out.

"Blaine?" he says. "You can come on back in."

Blaine gives a small nod before walking forward and into the room again. He looks expectantly towards Collin, ignoring the nerves that crawl through his stomach.

"We're going to call in the girl we've already casted," he says, reading Blaine's expression. "We need to do a screentest."

A wide smile breaks across Blaine's face, and he has to keep himself from jumping up and down.

"Thank you," he says. "Thank you so much."

"Ah," Collin says warningly. "You aren't officially casted yet."

"But – " Blaine interjects.

"But," Collins says with a smile. "We're pretty sure you will be."

Blaine can't help it, he balls his hand into a fist and pulls down on his arm, and spins on his heel, feeling elated. This is it. This is going to be the start of everything changing.

The door to the room swings open, and Blaine quickly composes himself, looking over at the woman entering the room – tall, tan skin, and glossy dark hair.

"Ms. Lopez," Collin says with a smile. "Come on in."

"Can we do this quickly?" she asks. "I've got to be somewhere by four."

"Alright, alright," Collin says. "Ms. Lopez, meet Mr. Anderson. Take your scripts, we've got everything set up, and when you're ready, go ahead."

They swipe two scripts from the table, flipping through the pages.

"Which scene?" Blaine asks.

"Page thirty-five," Rick replies. "Third line from the top – Santana."

Santana clears her throat, bracing the script in front of her. She takes a deep breath before going on, looking up and right into Blaine's eyes as she reads her line.

"Robert," she says, soft and vulnerable – her eyes are wide, her lips trembling just the slightest. "Robert, please." Her eyes flicker around Blaine's face, and she reaches out, her hand longing to touch his wrist – to take his hand and pull him close, and damn is she good, because Blaine's almost forgotten they're in the middle of the scene and he hasn't even said one word yet.

He glances down at his line, burning it into his mind before he does take her hand, entwining their fingers. "Emily, I have to," he says, determined, but still so full of desperateness and **the **obvious desire to listen to her. "This is my job," he continues. "This is what I've been training for – what I've been dreaming to do." His voice goes up on the last few words and he looks above her head, at the ceiling – as if he's looking off into space, imagining an old memory.

"I know," Santana continues. "I know, but – I – I don't know what I'm going to do without you."

"I'll be back," Blaine says without hesitation, and he lets go over her hand, reaching up to cup her face.

Santana shakes her head, turning away and stepping to her right. "No," she argues softly. "You might not be," and she turns quickly back towards him. "I don't want to let you go."

"Emily," Blaine says, stern again. "I promise you – I promise you that I'll make it back. I promise you that I'll do everything to stay safe, to be able to come back home to you." He stops, choking on his words and reaches out again, catching Santana by the elbow as she turns. "Stop," he says quietly. "I love you, Emily," he breathes. "I love you so much. I don't want to be apart from you, but I have to. And I promise you that every day, every hour, every minute that we're apart, you'll be there at the back of mind or even taking it up. Every minute I'll keep you in my heart and do anything it takes to get back to you." As he says this last part of his monologue, he closes the space between them, inch by inch until finally he's holding her face in his hands, bent over just slightly. He's moving his face forward, his eyelids drooping as he leans in to kiss her. Santana closes her eyes fully, and –

"Cut!"

Santana and Blaine instantly fly apart, melting back into themselves, and turning to Collin, who's sitting there with a satisfied smile on his face.

"That was wonderful," he says, and then looks to Santana. "Ms. Lopez, we are finished with you. Enjoy your day."

She hurries from the room without another word.

"Now, Blaine," Collin sighs, and Blaine shifts his weight from foot to foot awkwardly. He pauses, looking thoughtful, and Blaine simply waits, feeling the outrageous pounding of his heart against his throat. Collin looks up at him, his eyes slightly narrowed. "Blaine," he starts. "Are you serious about this part – do you_ want _to do this?"

"Of course," Blaine says instantly.

"This is something you're going to commit to?" Collin continues. "Because you don't exactly have the greatest of reputations right now, Blaine. We can't afford to deal with all you've been doing."

"I'll commit to this," Blaine says honestly. "It's why I auditioned – I need to stop doing what I have been."

Collin doesn't answer but nods, stacking and then hitting some papers against the table. "You're one hundred percent sure?" he clarifies, and Blaine nods. "Well then," he says. "Congratulations. You're our new Mr. Robert Halloway."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Well, now that everything's finally set up, I believe it's time for the plot to pick up. (: Thank you guys so much for all the support, and to Jasmine and Stephanie, my _amazing_ betas.


	4. Chapter 4

**four.**

* * *

><p>"I got the part!"<p>

Quinn looks up as the door to her office smashes against the wall, Blaine barging through. Kurt turns in his seat, rolling his eyes as he does so.

"Well?" Blaine asks. "Is no one excited? Uhh – major motion picture here. You know the romantic novel – _Treading Water_? Yeah, starring as the main character in the movie adaption."

Quinn smiles shaking her head and she stands up, crossing the room to hug him. "It just has less and less effect every time you barge in here," she says. "It's not that exciting anymore."

Blaine laughs along with her, his hand still resting on the small of her back. It's nice, not being irritated with each other, and Blaine starts to think that maybe changing won't be such a bad thing after all.

"So how did it go?" Quinn asks as she pulls away at last. "Well – good, obviously, but details?"

"Well, apparently it was callbacks today," Blaine starts off. "And they pulled me ahead of everyone else. Can't say that I feel bad though," he adds, pursing his lips, his eyes squinting up. "I'm sure I would've been picked anyway – saves them all time."

Quinn shakes her hard, trying to contain a smile, but she can't. Blaine's ego is too much for her sometimes, and she finds it rather hilarious. He's definitely not a bad person, but he does have a great deal of over confidence.

"And?" she asks, urging him on.

"I don't know," he says, shrugging. "Oh – Ricky was there," he says, and Quinn nods, showing that she recognizes him. "So he took me in and I met the casting director. They gave me a script, I read, and then they shoved me out in the hall to talk. And then they brought me in with the girl that they cast for Emily – "

"And who is that?" Quinn asks.

"L – Lopez," Blaine says. "Something Lopez."

"Jennifer?" Quinn asks. "George?"

"No, " Blaine says, laughing. "Definitely not either of them. Her name started with an 's' though, I think."

"Santana," Quinn says right away, nodding. "Oh, yes – I can see that."

"Yeah," Blaine says. "So they took us in and had us do the departing scene together, and then they casted me."

"Well," Quinn says. "Looks like they put a lot of faith in you. That's pretty incredible."

"Please," Blaine says, rolling his eyes. "I doubt they could've found someone better."

Quinn gives his arm a playful smirk. "Don't get too cocky – you know that. Because once you get to cocky – "

"I don't try as hard, I know," Blaine says, his voice monotone. "And then I'm not as great as I could be – yada, yada, blah, blah, blah. I'm going to work at this Quinn. Honestly – who do you think you're dealing with here?"

"Well," Quinn says, her voice going higher. "You have changed a great deal since your last movie."

"Just because I've developed a taste for alcohol . . all the time – it doesn't mean I've lost my ability to act," Blaine says with a scoff. "Come on. I'm a professional, Quinn."

Quinn laughs, almost mocking him, but still earnest. "Blaine, when have you ever been professional?" she asks. "Especially this last year?"

"I'm so offended right now," Blaine mutters, looking away from her.

"He just knows how to act professional," Jeff says, and Quinn laughs again.

"That's for sure."

"Yeah, and I've got that disguise covered for him," Kurt says, stretching out his fingers.

Blaine turns to him, raising an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asks, and just like that, his good mood is shot.

"I'm just saying I made you look professional today," Kurt says calmly, standing up from his seat.

"And I wouldn't have otherwise?" Blaine challenges.

"Probably not," Kurt says with a shrug. "I mean just look at the day we meet – baggy T-shirt, worn out jeans, scruffy beard . . _tsk, tsk, tsk_. I mean we all know you aren't exactly the most sophisticated of people."

"Huh," Blaine says, pushing his tongue against his cheek. "You know what, Hummel? Can you just give it a rest? I'm sick of you ragging on me all the time."

"Oh, like I'm the only one at fault here," Kurt snaps back. "Because I – "

"Hey, hey," Quinn says loudly, stepping between them, and they both back up, not realizing they had moved toward each other. "Take it easy, guys."

"Can't even get respect in my own workplace – my home," Blaine mutters.

"You have to give respect to get it," Kurt says without missing a beat, though there's something inside him that feels regretful.

Blaine pauses, almost looking like he understands, like he's going to admit that Kurt's right. But instead he gives another scoff and leaves, beckoning Jeff to follow him.

Quinn sighs and rubs Kurt's arm gently.

"He'll come around," she says.

Kurt hopes so.

.

.

But his hope is in vain, because for the next week, things only grow steadily worse. He and Blaine can hardly look at each other without sneering. They switch off who's mad at whom and who's just reacting, but eventually it just becomes this big loathe-fest.

Kurt tries most of the time – he tries to keep his cool and give Blaine the benefit of the doubt. Obviously, Blaine has a lot more to deal with, a lot more stress hanging over his shoulders, and Kurt tries to respect that and remember that maybe that's the reason Blaine is so irritable.

But it doesn't help or stop the fact that Kurt absolutely cannot stand Blaine and his stupid attitude.

And really, what's the big deal if he slips up every once in a while? It's not like Blaine's making any effort to get along. He hisses at Kurt every chance he gets, shooting him nasty glares and giving him the cold shoulder.

Kurt tries to stay strong, but he can't help but let it get to him.

He collapses into his seat, pulling at the tie around his neck, loosening it and yanking it off harshly. He shrugs out of his jacket and chucks it on his desk, letting out a frustrated sigh.

His first week is over and he's already completely stressed out. He can't stand to be in the same room with Blaine for more than five minutes at a time – which may be a problem considering he's dressing Blaine every other day.

Absently, he picks up a few of his designs from his desk, looking through them before he takes the paper and crumples it into a small, little ball. He was going to throw them out anyway. Blaine's voice fills his ears, mocking and harsh, as he throws the paper ball angrily across the room at the garbage can, grinding his teeth together.

He knew working Blaine was going to be difficult, but he didn't know it was going to be so frustrating, so confidence-shattering, so unbearable and disheartening. He just doesn't know what he's doing so wrong – why Blaine gets so irritated and fired up every time Kurt's in his presence. He doesn't know why he can't joke around with Blaine, why Blaine takes everything he says and turns it into something worth arguing about.

What is so wrong with just getting along?

Kurt knows that he doesn't deserve the way Blaine treats him, but he's not giving up. Not now. It's only been a week after all, and both Quinn and Jeff have his back. It's obvious so many others have backed out, have given up, have been pushed to the point of quitting.

But Kurt's not going to let that happen to him.

He's going to be the one that makes a difference.

.

.

Blaine collapses onto his bed with a sigh, closing his eyes as he lands in the soft blankets. His head is already pounding, and he knows that tomorrow's not going to be any fun.

But it's not like he could help it; he's worked up over the movie starting tomorrow and getting along with his costars and his parents back in control of him and _Kurt_ - goddamn bastard. Blaine literally cannot put up with him for longer than thirty seconds. He just can't. It's like every other minute he's got that snarky tone in his voice and is throwing subtle insults at Blaine left and right. Blaine just loathes him with a burning passion.

And of course, _of-fucking-course_, when Blaine went back to grab his things from his dressing room today, Kurt had been in his own office. Blaine's not exactly sure how, but they'd fought for another good five minutes before Quinn rushed down the hall and stepped in between them, demanding Blaine leave with Jeff as soon as possible.

Blaine had ripped himself away from Quinn's grip and stalked off, Jeff running after him with a frustrated sigh on his lips.

Jeff had dropped off Blaine at home, but Blaine had snuck out soon after to some shady bar and downed a few rounds of cocktails before deciding that he should probably get home. He'd rounded up one of his drivers and sneaked back home, slipping inside his room.

Luckily, his parents are out at some huge social event right now – so there's no chance in them scolding him. (Which he really shouldn't have to listen to considering he's a legal adult and allowed to drink as much as he wants under state law, granted he doesn't do anything stupid).

He knows; he knows he has a problem, but really, what's the use in trying to fix it?

With the movie, and all the interviews, and the fake relationship that'll come with being Santana's costar, and having to work with Kurt Hummel every day – there's no way he'll be able to get through it all sober. He'll need alcohol to cope.

Blaine curls onto his side, wrapping an around his stomach and staring at the wall opposite him.

It's really kind of funny how he thought for just a moment that this role would help him; that maybe he could recover.

Now it's obvious that was only ever wishful thinking.

.

.

Blaine has no idea he'd fallen asleep until he's suddenly peeling open his eyes, his cheek pressed into a pile of drool on his pillow. He's still got his leather jacket on, his jeans ruffled and wrinkled up his legs. He moves a few curls from his face and squints toward the alarm clock on his bedside table.

It's early morning – just past seven o'clock. He gives a groan as he rolls onto his back, reaching up a hand to wipe up the hardened spit off of his face. He's not feeling as bad as he expected he would, but still not one hundred percent – but then again, since he started drinking, when has he ever felt one hundred percent? There's always something keeping him down.

Blaine closes his eyes again, wishing to relax, but a ball of nervous excitement is rising in his stomach, spreading out of his whole body. Today's he's going in to meet for the first time with the cast, he's going to do a read-through of the script, tour around the in-construction set. It's going to feel like coming home, but at the same time, he feels like this home is a stranger.

He should be excited, yes, but for some reason, there's this odd feeling tugging from somewhere inside him. He feels like the more time stretches on, the more he feels disconnected from his career, from the rest of Hollywood, from _everyone._

And he doesn't like it.

(In fact, it kind of worries him).

However, he's got bigger problems than this odd little psychological and internal debate. He can't stop drinking, Kurt's driving him up the wall, and in about forty-five minutes, his parents are going to be breathing down his neck.

He pushes himself carefully into a sitting position, testing for dizziness. Once he's certain he's steady, he stands up and stretches, and then heads quietly down the hall. Half an hour, he's showered and ready, prepared for his parents' nagging.

He's sitting in the kitchen, forcing down food and praying that he won't vomit when they enter, still looking so professional even in their bathrobes. He doesn't say anything, but keeps his head down as he waits for them to speak first. He waits while his father makes coffee and his mother makes them breakfast, and it isn't until they're finished eating that his father finally feels the need to acknowledge the fact that Blaine is there.

It shouldn't even be a surprise. There's no need for Alan to just simply chat with his son – of course not. Only need for him to scold him and control him.

"Blaine," he says quietly, and Blaine looks up, biting his cheek as a reminder not to lash out. "I want you to be honest with me," Alan starts. "I want to know where you were last night."

"How do you know I was anywhere?" Blaine asks.

"Blaine, when we came home you were crashed on your bed still dressed," Alan says with a sigh. "It's no secret that you'd been drinking."

"Fine, so I went out," Blaine says, shrugging and looking down at his cereal bowl.

"Which you shouldn't be doing," Alan says sternly.

"Yeah, but I don't really care," Blaine says. "And let's face it, neither do you."

"What do you mean?" Alan asks, taken aback. "Of course we care – "

"Not really," Blaine interrupts. "You only care that it might damage my reputation and career, not that it might damage me."

"Blaine, will you stop?" Clara cuts in.

"Stop what?" Blaine asks, looking to her. "Stop telling the truth? Stop calling you out?"

"Blaine, you have everything wrong," Clara says, and Blaine thinks he imagines it – but her voice trembles ever so slightly.

"I don't though," Blaine says shaking his head. "I know exactly how you feel about me. I know exactly what your intentions are. You asked me to be honest with you, so I am. And I just wish you'd be honest with me." He turns on his heel, stalking from the room.

"Now, Blaine, hold on!" his father yells, stepping after him.

Blaine stops against his better judgment, turning back. "What?" he asks.

"Where are you going?" Alan asks. "I'm not done talking to you."

"Well, I am," Blaine says. "I can't listen to this anymore." He moves forward, then pauses. "And don't worry," he adds. "I'll be back in time to get to the set."

Clara shakes her head, pressing her lips together, but says nothing as Blaine stalks off again.

.

.

Blaine doesn't go far – just sits out by the water fountain at the front of the estate, watching birds fly around in the trees and bugs crawl along the driveway.

It's just really funny how he goes back and forth – from Kurt who just rags on him all the time, to his parents who are constantly telling him what a disappointment he is, and even though they care about him – Quinn and Jeff who stare at him with pity in their eyes.

He just wishes he had someone who understood him, someone who didn't judge him, someone who wasn't worried about changing him and fixing his wrongdoings all the time, someone who just accepted him for who is.

But he doubts he's ever going to find someone like that.

All his life he's only ever been used. People only try to get to know him, try to get close to him for fame, for a chance in the spotlight and their names in the tabloids. Blaine's actually pretty lucky to have found a friend like Jeff. It's not like he gets the opportunity to make friends all the time – real ones, that is. And he really is quite grateful for Jeff – someone who likes him outside of his fame, who helps him stay out of the spotlight and out of trouble. Blaine supposes it helps that they've been friends since before Blaine's skyrocket to fame, but still.

They met back when they were ten years old, right when Blaine had first moved to Los Angeles. They'd both shared an apartment building, their homes on the same floor – only three doors apart. It was good for Blaine to have someone to play with and to feel like a normal kid, and Blaine's parents had taken to having Jeff over as much as they could, so Blaine wouldn't get too lonely when they left him for hours at a time every day.

Blaine supposes that's really the only nice thing his parents had ever done for him – and it's not entirely that full of good intentions. Blaine's parents had Jeff over when they'd go off and schedule auditions for Blaine and talk to the press and simply make money off of him. They'd leave the two of them with nannies and be gone for an entire evening and even long into the night.

They knew they wouldn't be around much, knew they wouldn't be there for Blaine all the time, and that's where Jeff came in.

It is good for Blaine, however, and for once, he's glad for the fact his parents are such shitty parents. Without all their craze and lust for business in his first year in Hollywood, he would've never met Jeff, and who knows where he'd be now?

Still, fame does have his limits, and if we're going to be honest, Blaine's never been in a real relationship.

He's tried dating fans, but they're only there to use him for his fame and money, or they're greatly disappointed by the person he is in real life. The press really glamorizes who he is – makes him seem like he's such a great and wonderful person, when in reality, he's a douche. And the worst part is, he knows he's an asshole, but makes no effort to change, makes no effort to stop treating people the way he does, and he doesn't blame girls for dumping him.

And when he's not dating a fan, he's forced to date his costars. They have to appeal to the press and gain interest from the media. Sometimes he initially is interested, but after awhile he grows tired of them while they only seem to be falling more and more in love with him. And it's no surprise that after the buzz from every movie dies down, he goes through a nasty breakup with whoever he's dating at the time.

Sometimes he just really wants to know.

He wants to know if he'll ever find someone, or if he'll be living his fucked up life alone forever.

.

.

Blaine steps out of the limousine, inhaling a deep breath of air. The smell of fresh paint and warm wood fill his nostrils – the smell of a set being built. A small grin tugs at his lips and he moves forward, wishing to get away from his parents as soon as possible, throwing himself at this sudden happy feeling.

He walks to the front of the building, maneuvering through all the supplies littered around the small parking lot. The secretary greets him flatly as he enters, only to do a double-take, a real smile spreading across her face. She's young, but not as young as him – probably in her early thirties, and it's obvious she must be a fan.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Anderson," she says. "The rest of the cast is out behind the building – on the patio."

"Thanks," he says, and catches himself – he's being polite; it's almost odd.

He rushes through the halls, looking for a way to get to the back, a small surge of adrenaline rushing through his veins. At last he finds the right door and takes a deep breath before pushing it open, walking back out into the midday sun.

Set construction is in full swing – he can tell, with people working machines and supplies stacked up, waiting to be carried inside to the appropriate soundstages. There are people around, but it's mostly crew members – a few actors are gathered around a table, along with Ricky, but it looks like they're still missing a lot of cast members.

Blaine turns from the gathered crowd and begins walking across the lot, admiring the scattered pieces of set. Images fill his brain of himself dressed in 1930s fashion, Santana clinging to his arm with gloved hands. He sees a dark night, the two of them leaning their heads on each other as they walk through the city.

He sees Robert and Emily, the adored characters from _Treading Water_ brought to life on the big screen, and he smiles. So many people have been waiting for this movie, are anticipating it, are incredibly excited, and he can't wait to give it to them.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair.

He's here. He's finally on set again, getting ready to read through a script and get into character. This is where he belongs and where he needs to focus on being.

He looks around, watching as the crew members build and work on the set, putting it together and making it come to life. It really looks incredible, spreading out around him and it sets him in the mood, helping him shift into character.

He turns to his right, and then stops, freezing in his tracks as he catches a glimpse of his new costar walking towards him in a skimpy dress and high heels. He licks his lips and runs a hand through his messy curls again, putting on a devilish grin – it's time to get serious.

She steps right up to him, bringing her sunglasses down over her eyes. "Santana Lopez," she says, offering her hand. "But you already know that."

"Blaine Anderson," he replies, shaking her hand. "But _everyone_ knows that."

"Oh, you cocky bitch," Santana replies, her lips lifting up into a smile.

Blaine raises his eyebrows, smirking.

Santana steps just a little bit closer, their bodies almost touching. She reaches up, cupping his cheek in her palm. His breath hitches a moment, and he does all he can to keep the short distance left in between them.

"Your dashing good looks and cheesy personality have no affect on me," she says softly. "Don't think you'll ever have me wrapped around your finger, because you won't. And if you do try to seduce me," she continues, "I won't be afraid to rip your balls off with my bare hands."

She leans in just a moment as if she's about to kiss him and then pulls away, smacking his cheek lightly. She turns on her heel and struts away, turning just to pull down her sunglasses and wink before she disappears.

Blaine stands there, rubbing his hand across his cheek in utter shock.

Today is certainly going to be interesting.

.

.

Overall, the read-through goes pretty well, and with just an hour left of the work day, he and Santana begin to actually act out the scene – blocking it and taking the time to make it seem real – with small touches and longer pauses between lines.

Santana's easy to work with, incredibly good, and looking past her hard outer exterior and sassy attitude, she's a rather nice person. She can make Blaine laugh easily and the next moment, her acting is sending him into heartbreaking tears, setting the scene.

And besides her, he's already growing to like other members of the cast – like Louis, who plays Santana's father. He's nothing like his character who's strict and judgmental, but he's an absolute blast to have around. He was the first to break the ice within the cast, and helps make the atmosphere completely relaxed.

Blaine's actually just happy no one seems to be judging him yet. He can tell that at first people were a bit wary of him, but they all know how it goes. They know how it feels to have rumors spread about you and how you just learn to accept it and it and ignore it rather than fight all the time, so by the end of the day, everyone's looking past Blaine's recent trouble with the media, and is ready to accept him as their new cast mate.

At the end of the day, Blaine is starting to ease into this new family, new home, and yet, just as before, there's that annoying nagging feeling, pulling him away.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I have to say, I really love writing Santana. I hope you guys enjoyed this, and really, I am still baffled by all the support I am receiving from you guys. One hundred. Over one hundred of you have this story on alert, and I - I can't explain how much that means to me. You guys are so amazing. Thank you so much. :')


	5. Chapter 5

**five.**

* * *

><p>Blaine shifts his weight, moving his fingers along the frets and securing his guitar over his thigh. He strums slowly, listening carefully to the chords as he plays. He plays a few different basic chords and then cringes, shaking his head.<p>

"Hey, that sounded pretty good," Jeff says from across the room where he's scrolling through his laptop.

Blaine laughs. "What the hell are you talking about – it's so out of tune."

Jeff shrugs. "I couldn't really tell."

"Well, it's not too bad, but still." Blaine plucks one string and then another. "Ugh – seriously," he mutters. "What is that awful sound?" He twists the tuning knob at the end of his guitar, continuing to pluck it as he goes, listening until he hits the right sound. "There we go," he says, and begins to strum again, a softer, harmonious sound filling the dressing room.

"Ah, I see now," Jeff says. "Much better."

"I didn't know you could play guitar."

Blaine looks up, watching as Kurt walks into the room with a jacket hanging over his forearm.

"Why would you?" Blaine asks, still sounding so irritated – as he always does when he's talking with Kurt.

"Calm down," Kurt says lazily. "I'm just surprised is all. You're an extremely famous celebrity – there are people who know every last thing about you. I figured it would've come up."

"Well, I don't care much for people to know about this," Blaine snaps, turning his attention back to the guitar and position his fingers over the frets. "They'll only expect more of me."

Kurt looks away, muttering under his breath. He shoots and incredulous look at Jeff, who presses his lips together and gives a shrug in return.

"Blaine," Kurt says, suppressing a sigh.

"What?" Blaine asks without looking up.

"Try this on," Kurt says, tossing the black jacket to Blaine, giving him just enough time to catch it.

Blaine sets his guitar beside him, sighing. He shrugs the jacket over his shoulders, straightening the collar and pulling down on it, making sure it's snug and comfortable.

"Does it look okay?" he asks.

"Mmmm," Kurt muses, biting his lip. He reaches for Blaine's waist, grabbing and pinching a piece of fabric. "I'll probably have to take it in right about here, and . . " his eyes trail upward, "possibly the neckline."

"Hey, Kurt," Jeff calls across the room.

Kurt looks back at him, his hand still on Blaine's waist. "What?"

"Guess what I just bought," Jeff says with a smirk.

Kurt freezes, his eyes widening and his lips upturning slightly. "Oh my god, did you - ?"

Jeff nods excitedly, grinning.

"Are you serious?" Kurt asks, nearly squealing.

Blaine looks between the two of them, his eyebrows creasing inn confusion. "What?" he asks.

"I'm serious," Jeff replies. "Completely, dead serious."

"Oh my god – yes!" Kurt almost shouts. He takes his hand from Blaine's hip and hurries over to Jeff.

"See?" Jeff says. "Right there – " he points to his computer, "just bought 'em."

"Oh my god, Jeff – thank you!"

"Hey," Blaine says loudly. "I'm still here – you could tell me what's going on."

"The Kooks," is all Kurt says, putting a hand up to his mouth to hide his obnoxious grin.

"They're playing a small, exclusive matinee show here in Los Angeles on Friday," Jeff explains. "I really wanted to go anyway, and when Kurt told me he was a fan, I just thought – why not go together?"

"Oh," Blaine says, just the smallest bit shocked. "Right."

"What?" Jeff asks, reading more into Blaine's reply. "Is there something wrong?"

"No," Blaine says a little too quickly, his voice a little too high-pitched for him to be being completely truthful. "Just a little surprised is all."

"Why?" Jeff asks, and Kurt takes a step back, preparing to leave before another fight breaks out. Because really, it's embarrassing the amount of fights Quinn and Jeff have had to break apart the fast few days, and frankly, Kurt's just sick of fighting with Blaine.

Blaine shakes his head awkwardly, shrugging. "I just – I think it's a little odd."

"That Kurt and I are hanging out?" Jeff asks.

"Yeah," Blaine answers truthfully. "I can't really imagine you two getting along well and bonding, but hey – whatever works."

"Well, it's really none of your business, anyway," Kurt snaps, and then mentally slaps himself – _don't start something._

"Actually, it is my business," Blaine says heatedly. "Because Jeff is my best friend and you work for me. And as I really do depend on Jeff a lot, I need to know that he's still going to be around."

"Blaine, relax," Jeff says, shifting his weight. "Of course I'm going to be around – it's only one night, you know."

"I know," Blaine assures. "I trust you, Jeff," he adds, shooting a glare at Kurt.

"Yes, because I'm totally out to destroy you," Kurt huffs. "I'm playing on all of your heartstrings just preparing to crush you in the palm of my hand."

Blaine's on his feet, raising his eyebrows. "You know, with how you keep treating me, I wouldn't actually be surprised."

Kurt laughs, haughty and hysterical. "How_ I_ treat _you?_ I think you've got this backwards, Anderson."

"Oh, do you?" Blaine asks. "Because just about every time I talk, you're tearing me down. And I really don't like it."

"The same goes for you," Kurt replies without missing a beat. "It's a two-way street."

Blaine bites his cheek, unable to think of a witty remark, so instead he throws the jacket in his hand back at Kurt. "Get back to work," he snarls.

Kurt throws him a sarcastic smile, "I'd be happy to," and he stalks off towards his office.

.

.

An hour later, and they're still tense and stubborn, not daring to look at each other.

Which kind of sucks because they're now on their way to filming – Jeff awkwardly squished between them as a sort of peacekeeper. Jeff's there because Blaine practically ordered him to come along (though now with anger bubbling inside him, he's not sure why), and Kurt's there because he's meeting the costume design team to help them put together Robert Halloway's wardrobe.

As soon as the car rolls into the parking lot and is barely parked, Blaine pushes the door open and hops out, eager to get away from the two of them.

The more he thinks about it, the more stunned and almost disgusted he is. He just can't get it through his head that Kurt and Jeff are suddenly hanging out. They're getting along and joking and laughing together, and Blaine just does not understand. One, how can Jeff stand Kurt? And two, how does Kurt have the nerve to intrude like this?

And when did they even find time? Ever since Kurt started working, it's been chaos. With the movie and all the publicity and planning ahead for interviews, photoshoots, and promotional events. Blaine's barely had enough time for himself, and soon he thinks his insane schedule is the thing that's going to make him sober rather than his own willpower.

Since they've begun filming, Blaine heads straight for the makeup trailer, preparing to plug in his iPod for the next half hour and ignore everyone.

.

.

"You seem a little tense today," Santana comments.

They're currently filming a scene, but the cameramen are experiencing some technical difficulties, so they're waiting on the sidelines.

"Huh, do I?" Blaine asks, and his tone practically screams _I hate everything _along with his crossed arms and downcast gaze, so Santana simply stares at him, not bothering to comment.

"Christ, what's got your balls tied in a knot?" she asks, shifting her weight.

Blaine rolls his eyes before answering. "I'm just extremely irritated with a certain personal stylist of mine."

"Oh, Kurt?" Santana asks, almost cheerfully, and Blaine whips his head to look at her, eyebrows raised. "I met him earlier," she says quickly. "I ran into him when I went to get my costume. He's nice, and . . . quite the piece of ass."

"Oh my god," Blaine mutters, shaking his head.

"You can't deny it," Santana says, smiling mischievously.

"Yes I can, because I loathe him," Blaine replies.

"Well, damn, what'd he do to you?" Santana asks, side-eyeing him.

"He's just a - a pest," Blaine splutters. "He's annoying as hell and stubborn and god, I fucking hate him."

"You're such a wonderful and accepting person, aren't you?" Santana asks sarcastically.

"Fuck off," Blaine says. "He's just a bitch to me."

"Well, you seem to be a bitch to everyone else – just saying," Santana replies. "It's okay," she adds. "I am too."

Blaine nearly smiles then – Santana's growing on him quickly. She's witty and sarcastic and hilarious, and she's one of the only people in his life that doesn't judge him.

"But really," Santana urges, turning herself to face him better, "he must have done something to wind you up like this."

Blaine sighs, uncrossing his arms for a moment and then re-crossing them. "He's been making plans with my friend Jeff – who's basically like a brother to me. They're going to a concert on Friday together – without me. And it's not like I'd want to go honestly, but on Friday's it's known that I like to get drunk, and because of the way things are going, I needed Jeff to make sure I don't go too far. And the relationship between them – I don't - it's weird, and I feel like Kurt's doing it just to mess with me."

Santana stares at him with an incredulous look on her face.

"What?" Blaine asks, almost self-conscious.

"You're incredible," Santana says.

"What?" Blaine asks, more serious.

"Oh my god," Santana mutters, shaking her head at the sky. "You're not irritated," she says, and then she smirks. "You're a jealous mess."

"Jealous?" Blaine scoffs. "Of Kurt? Please, I spend enough time Jeff, already. I'm not jealous of Kurt."

"I didn't say you were," Santana says calmly. "And I don't think you are."

Blaine only grows more confused, and his eyebrows crease together as he looks at her. "What do you mean?" he asks, but she just shakes her head and crosses her arms.

It takes a minute, but it does hit him.

Santana thinks he's jealous of _Jeff._

Oh. _Oh._

He bursts out laughing, clutching his stomach and nearly crying be the time he's finished.

"Jesus Christ," Santana hisses. "What the fuck was that?"

"You think I'm jealous of Jeff?" Blaine asks, choking on his laughter. "You think I want to be doing all of this with Kurt? Oh, god, you're killing me."

"Oh, don't deny it," Santana says, rolling her eyes. "Please, Auntie is good with these things. I'm a relationship expert, Blaine. And one look at your expression when you say Kurt's name – particularly your eyes – I can tell that you want to ride Kurt like a fucking bicycle."

Blaine tries to come up with a calm, clever way to tell Santana that what she's saying has no truth whatsoever, but all that comes out is a splutter as he tries desperately do hide the blush creeping up his neck.

"Just look at your face," Santana says with a smirk. "It's as red as your horribly chapped lips. Ugh, I can see why you're so jealous. Why would Kurt want those ugly lips all over him?"

Blaine only blushes deeper, muttering incoherently under his breath.

"Told you – Auntie knows."

"I need a drink," Blaine spits out, and Santana laughs.

"Right behind you," she says as Blaine walks off set.

.

.

The more Blaine drinks, the more doubt fills his mind.

He's hanging on the edge of his sanity as he downs more alcohol and Santana laughs obnoxiously from somewhere next to him. And he's starting to wonder if maybe she's right.

Is he jealous of Kurt or Jeff? Or just both of them in general? Does he wish he was going with them on Friday? Is he really annoyed with Kurt or is he mistaking it for a different emotion?

Blaine shakes his head, trying to clear the fuzzy haze it's in.

No – Kurt doesn't like him, and he doesn't like Kurt. He's not even gay. That's just the way it is. Nothing else.

.

.

Blaine's fears disappear as soon as he awakes the next morning, too preoccupied with the pounding in his head, and as soon as he arrives at work, that familiar feeling of annoyance overcomes him when he's welcomed to the sight of Kurt sitting in his office.

Blaine collapses into a chair and ignores him.

.

.

On Friday, it's Blaine's day off and he really has no idea what to do considering his best friend is going to be buddy-buddy all day with the bane of his existence. He ends up stopping by the liquor store and buying a two bottles of wine, throwing them in the passenger's seat as he drives to the agency.

It's odd – he hasn't driven in awhile, but as Jeff's busy and he doesn't feel like calling for a driver, it's really his only option. He struggles with the steering wheel, and his vision is still tainted with the effects of the alcohol that's almost always running through his veins, but he somehow makes it to the parking lot without crashing into anybody (though he had a rather close call at his first stoplight).

With the paper bag full of wine, he stumbles up the stairs until he reaches his office. Inside, he plops down into his usual chair and bulls out a bottle, popping off the top and taking a long, hearty swig. A sigh escapes his lips and he relaxes, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against his chair.

After he's finished with the first bottle, he picks up his guitar and strums for awhile, humming and mumbling different melodies. A mess of lyrics enter his mind and he makes up everything as he goes, but it doesn't sound half bad. Maybe he should write some of this down.

As he enters his second bottle, things start growing blurry, his mind becoming a haze. He paces around, not entirely sure what he's doing. Jagged thoughts run through his mind, and time begins to fall in fast chunks, the hands on the clocking moving more and more each time he checks.

By seven, he's draped across the couch in his dressing room, no idea what to do with himself.

By eight, he's annoyed.

He's been here almost four and a half hours, alone and bored, and still, Jeff is nowhere to be found. He knows Jeff was at a concert, but it was a matinee, and is most certainly done by now – has been done, and Jeff promised to meet Blaine back here because they were supposed to go out have fun – he was supposed to keep Blaine sober, and by the sluggish feeling taking over his body, it seems like Jeff's doing a pretty shitty job right now.

Blaine sighs and pushes himself up, and as he looks over towards the door that leads to Kurt's office, he's filled with rage.

What is he doing?

He shouldn't be blaming Jeff – Kurt's the one to blame here. If Kurt hadn't taken this job, Jeff would be here, or Blaine would be the one at the concert and now out having fun. If Kurt hadn't taken this job, Blaine wouldn't hate the thought of going to the agency every day, because there would be no fighting and no reason to fight in general. If Kurt hadn't taken this job, Blaine would be happy.

Blaine propels himself upward, and before he knows what he's doing, he's stalking towards Kurt's office, grinding his teeth together. He stumbles a little on his way, but he's able to throw the door open and step inside, eyes moving to all the stupid outfits Kurt's put together for him.

And suddenly, all these feelings are crashing down on him, and the doubts are coming back, and it's just confusing and infuriating.

Because he's so, so annoyed right now. He's annoyed that Kurt had to come into his life and steal Jeff away and win everyone over just as people are starting to get sick of Blaine. He's annoyed that Kurt's so stubborn, that he doesn't crumble underneath Blaine's threats like everyone else. And he's just annoyed that Kurt knows how to push his buttons in just the right way – that he knows Blaine's vulnerable spots and does his best to touch them.

And yet, he is jealous – because goddamnit, who's he kidding? There's something intriguing about Kurt that he wants to get to know. He wants to change Kurt's mind about him and show him that he's not just an asshole like everyone thinks. He just wants Kurt to give him a chance, and maybe it would be nice to not fight all the time.

And just God, he's so conflicted and confused and why is he feeling like this?

Why does Kurt make him feel like this? He has no right to. He has no right to mess with Blaine like this and rattle his emotions.

Blaine lets out a frustrated sigh, and reaches out, pulling at a dress shirt on one of the hangers. He yanks hard, and there's a _riiiip_ sound, and Blaine's left holding onto only a sleeve.

Oh.

That felt good.

It got some anger out.

Blaine latches his fingers onto a thin cardigan, his mind reeling with thoughts of Kurt and his heart pounding through a bunch of emotions he can't even pick out. He pulls fast, hard, and another_ riiiip_ fills the room.

Kurt is annoying.

_Riiiip._

He insults Blaine on a daily basis.

_Riiiip._

He goes out and parties with Blaine's friends.

_Riiiip._

He makes Blaine feel worthless.

_Riiiip._

And yet, Blaine doesn't hate him.

_Riiiip._

Blaine might actually like him. Possibly.

_Riiiip._

Blaine freezes, his chest heaving as he breathes heavily, and he laughs – long and loud. Finally, after more than a week of Kurt making Blaine feel like shit, Blaine hopes Kurt feels this way in return.

However, he instantly regrets thinking that as soon as he hears the door to his dressing room click open. He stares at the tattered remains of at least three outfits, and his heart starts racing even faster.

What has he done?

"Blaine?"

It's Jeff. Oh, god, no. No, no, no.

"Blaine, are you here?"

Oh, fuck. That's Kurt. That's definitely Kurt now.

Blaine holds his breath, hoping that they won't come into Kurt's office, but the light is obviously on, and shit – the door's opening. Blaine whips around, inhaling a gasp.

Kurt freezes in the doorway, and instantly, his face falls.

"What – Blaine, did you - ?"

"Kurt, I can explain," Blaine says quickly, throwing the ripped t-shirt in his hands to the ground behind him.

"No – oh, god." Kurt rushes forward, picking up a piece of cardigan from the ground and cradling it carefully in his hands. "No, no – I worked so hard on this – _shit._"

"Kurt, I'm – "

"Just, stop," Kurt says, and Blaine hears the surge of anger entering his voice. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, wrapping his fingers around the fabric. "I don't even want to hear it." His voice quivers, and Blaine's heart breaks.

Oh, God – _what has he done?_

"Kurt, just listen to me, please," Blaine begs.

"No," Kurt says defiantly. "Just leave."

"Kurt, I'm sorry - I –"

"Leave," Kurt repeats, stern. "I don't want to look at you anymore. Get out."

"Kurt, please – I'm so sorry."

"Just go," Kurt says, almost pleading as he chokes on a sob. He opens his eyes, and Blaine feels terrible as he sees that they're glistening with tears.

"_Kurt . . "_

"Go. _Please._"

He sounds so desperate, so hurt, and God, Blaine doesn't think he could stand to hurt Kurt further so he leaves, closing the door gently behind him.

"What happened?" Jeff asks, and Blaine shakes his head.

"I'm an asshole," Blaine says simply. "I'm a self-centered, egotistical, asshole."

"Blaine – what?"

"Just leave it," Blaine says. "I don't want to talk about it. I – " he breaks off, running a hand through his hair. "I need to go. I need to go before I fuck something else up."

And with that, he's rushing from the room, the image of Kurt's broken expression burning at the backs of his eyes.

.

.

Kurt sinks to the ground, bending over to pick up the scraps of fabric littering the floor.

He doesn't realize he's crying until he sniffles, and gross – his nose is running all over the place. He pauses, looking at one of the scraps of fabric and decides, fuck it. These little pieces of clothing remind him of Blaine, and he has no probably wiping his snot all over that asshole. He blows his nose and then stands up, blinking back the flow of tears and composing himself.

But ugh, it just _hurts._

He knows that he and Blaine don't get along fantastically, but does Blaine really want him gone this badly? Does he really despise Kurt that much, or was this just some stupid drunken antic? Kurt wants to believe the latter, but somewhere inside of him, he knows that Blaine really hates him – that all he wants is Kurt to be gone and out of his life, and Kurt just feels awful.

Yeah, so maybe he's not nice to Blaine, but it's mutual, and he thought that they were making some progress – that soon maybe everything wouldn't be so tense around here.

But apparently, he was wrong.

He throws the piece of fabric in the trash can, biting his lip.

"Kurt?"

He turns, and thankfully, it's just Jeff.

"You okay?"

Kurt sighs, looking down towards the mess on the floor. "I will be," he says, "but these clothes won't."

.

.

Blaine settles himself into a stool at the bar, hunching over and putting his face in his hands.

Why?

Why is he such an idiot? Why does he have to be so rude and awful? Wasn't this what he was supposed to be fixing and stopping himself from doing? Wasn't he supposed to be focusing on getting sober so he wouldn't do stupid things like this?

He lets out a sigh, shaking his head.

Well, that's a lost cause for today, so why not try and forget?

He beckons the bartender over and orders a random cocktail off the menu. What he gets, he doesn't really care, as long as it's filled with plenty of alcohol. He takes it gratefully and immediately takes a sip, allowing the fiery taste to burn up his mouth and turn his mind numb.

This really isn't the best way to stop the pain, he knows. But God, he's just so sick of everything. He's sick of making mistakes and doing stupid things and hurting people, and all he wants is to forget right now. To slip away from real life and feel free for just a moment. And really, what's one more mistake?

.

.

Kurt's sitting at his desk, holding steadily to the top of his sewing machine as he salvages what he can from the ruined clothing. He's managed to fix two shirts, but the rest is most likely hopeless. Hopefully, he can talk the agency into paying for the clothes since it was Blaine's fault, but if not, well – there goes his next paycheck.

"Are you going to stay here all night?"

Kurt looks back, and Jeff's walking towards him with a concerned expression on his face.

"I don't know," Kurt sighs. "Maybe. Thanks to Blaine, I have a lot of things to figure out."

"I'm really sorry about him," Jeff says, shaking his head. "I don't know what's up with him lately."

"It's fine," Kurt says. "And me, most likely. He really seems to hate my guts."

"Or he's just stupid."

"No," Kurt disagrees, shaking his head and almost laughing. "He loathes me. I know it."

"Nah, I don't think so," Jeff disagrees. "I think he's just too drunk most of the time to think and process like a normal human being and anger is just his go-to reaction."

"Well," Kurt says, pausing, "I wish that was the case. It'd sure make this job a lot easier."

"I'll talk to him," Jeff says, trying to reassure him.

"It won't make a difference," Kurt says, turning back to his work, evidently finished with this conversation.

"Won't know unless I try," Jeff says with a smile, and Kurt looks up at him. He can't help the small smile that tugs on his own lips; sometimes Jeff's optimism is just so infectious.

From back in Blaine's dressing room, the door flies open, and Kurt and Jeff both turn towards the doorway to see Quinn coming through.

"I just received a call from Blaine's parents," she says. "He's not home, and they want to know where he is."

"What?" Jeff asks incredulously. "He left over three hours ago – " he breaks off, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Shit – but he didn't say he was going home. I – I just assumed."

"Yeah, well, apparently, he's not there," Quinn says, and she's beginning to panic. "Oh, god, I'm such a horrible person. I've so busy today, and I kicked him out of my office earlier – what kind of friend just ignores him when he's obviously upset? Oh, god . . "

"Quinn," Jeff says sharply. He steps forward, reaching out and grabbing her elbow gentle as she paces around.

She stops and turns towards him. "Jeff, what am I going to do? God, I'm so stupid!"

"Quinn, stop," Jeff says softly. "Look, I'm sure this has nothing to do with you. Blaine's been a bad mood all week, alright. And it's his own fault he's upset. He started more crap with Kurt earlier, and then walked off."

"Yeah, but now he's gone, and I – I don't – where is he?" Quinn splutters. "How are we going to find him?"

"Well," Jeff starts, and he pulls Quinn into his arms, hugging her, "If I know Blaine, then he's probably at one of his favorite bars."

"You lead the way, then," Quinn says. She grabs his hand and begins to step towards the door, but Jeff stops and turns back, looking to Kurt.

"Do you think you could come with?" he asks hesitantly. "We might need to split up. There's more than one bar Blaine could be at."

Kurt doesn't know why he would help Blaine after the way Blaine's treated him, but Kurt's also not a mean person. Blaine could possibly be in trouble, and as Blaine's sort of his colleague, he feels obliged to help out.

Kurt sighs, nearly rolling his eyes, but he pushes himself up, muttering, "Sure."

.

.

A chilly breeze washes over his heated skin as he takes another sip from the bottle.

"Blaine. Hey, Blaine, come 'ere."

He looks up, squinting into the blurred darkness. "'Eah?" he rasps.

"We got somethin' for ya."

A flare lights up the night, and a peculiar, intoxicating smell fills Blaine's nostrils.

"Ya 'ver smoked weed?"

"O' course he 'as – what kind of question is that?"

"Blaine, 'ave ya?"

"Yeah," Blaine mutters. "More 'an few times."

"Wanna joint?"

"Hell yes," Blaine says, moving closer. The man hands him a cigarette and lights it up for him, giving him another whiff of the smell. Blaine wraps his lips around the joint and inhales deeply. He quickly pulls away, coughing roughly, but dear god – he hasn't smoked in awhile, and this is just what he needs.

When he's finished with joint, he feels amazing – save for the fact his brain is so hazy he can barely hear or see straight anymore. But nevertheless, this probably one of the best highs he's ever been on.

He's not exactly sure when he starts coming down, however, but eventually the sensation leaves him, and he's barely hanging on as the group of guys around him laugh and holler, talking swigs and smoking joints. Two men have already passed out, and he knows he's going to be the next.

Somehow, he moves himself up against the wall of the outside of the bar. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply because now he's starting to feel sick. The more time passes, the less effect he feels from the alcohol and marijuana, and the more that sick feeling takes over. His eyelids droop and darkness threatens to wash over him.

Blaine's barely conscious when the atmosphere out back changes.

"Aww, what you doing back 'ere, sweetheart?"

"Back off," a voice say sharply. "Keep your filthy hands off of me."

Something suddenly registers in Blaine's mind. That voice . . .

"Oh, god," it mutters. "Blaine, what have you gotten yourself into?"

"Blaine?" someone asks. "Aww, honey, he ain't going to give you what you need."

"What I need is for you to shut up and leave me alone."

Footsteps sound, moving closer and closer to Blaine. He pushes himself upward, trying to open his eyes. He feels arms grip around his waist, and suddenly he's being yanked to his feet.

"God, you're such a dumbass," that same voice says quietly.

The ground disappears from underneath Blaine's feet and he's lifted into the air, strong arms underneath him. The next thing Blaine knows is he's being set down onto something semi-soft, warmth surrounding him, and the sound of a car rumbles nearby.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Sorry I'm late this week. I fell asleep after school yesterday, and just didn't feel well in general. But anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and as always, thank you so, so much for all the amazing support. I can't even express to you how grateful I am to all of you who read this.

And thank you to my betas, Jasmine and Stephanie. (:


	6. Chapter 6

**six.**

* * *

><p><em>He's assaulted by a cacophony of babbling voices. Shouts and yells – but they're anything but the joyful, excited ones he's used to. They're shouting his name, but it's angry, outraged. His heart is racing through his chest, and his breath catches in his throat. He tries plugging his ears to drown out the sound and closing his eyes to escape the cloudy darkness, but the noise only grows louder, more violent. He opens his eyes again, whipping around and looking at the muddled black surroundings; he can't make out anything.<em>

_And from behind him, there's a crackle, and there stands Quinn, her face streaked with tears, her expression one of dull anger mixed with sadness. She lets out a strangled sob, and then Jeff appears next to her, his arms wrapping proactively around her shoulders. He gives Blaine a look of disgust and scoffs harshly. _

_There's a flash and they're gone._

_Blaine's breath is coming in short, little gasps, tearing at his throat, and his head is spinning. He tries to move, tries to take a step, tries to run and escape, but even with the adrenaline coursing through his veins, he can't move. _

_And as he's stuck there, panicking, another person appears in front of him._

_Kurt._

_There's nothing but pure disappointment etched carefully into the lines of his face, and his eyes are glazed with held-back tears. Instantly, a horrible pain shocks through Blaine's chest and his vision goes blurry._

"Kur . . ."

_Kurt's face swims before him, and he feels the strength leaving his legs. Pure, unaltered darkness crashes down on him just as he falls._

"Kurt . . ."

Blaine wakes up with a small jolt.

As his eyes adjust to the light, he looks around him groggily, coming back to his body. Everything hits him at once – an intense pounding beats through his skull, and his whole body is sore. His throat feels raw, his mouth dry, and his stomach is a little uneasy.

But more importantly, he has no idea where he is. He's lying on a rather nice couch in the living room of a small apartment. There's a hallway branching off to his left, and a doorway to what looks like a kitchen ahead of him. The living room itself is decorated elaborately, and Blaine admires the photos littering the walls and the bookshelves stacked neatly along underneath them. This place has a very comfortable, yet professional feel, and Blaine knows where he is before he even hears the voice.

"How are you feeling?"

Blaine looks up to see Kurt standing in the kitchen doorway, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.

Blaine gives a sigh. "I've been better," he croaks out.

"I'm sure you have," Kurt says, laughing dryly. "I've never seen anyone so wasted."

Blaine looks away and says nothing, but a sudden thought occurs to him. "What time is it?" he asks, looking back.

"Nearly twelve-thirty," Kurt replies.

"Shit," Blaine hisses. "I was supposed to go into work at eight."

"Calm down," Kurt says with a smirk. "I called you in – told them you weren't feeling well."

Blaine lets a smile tug at his lips as well. "And they weren't suspicious?" he asks wryly.

"Oh, they were," Kurt assures. "But I told them we were running late at a fitting last night when you got sick and I found that you were running a fever. It shut them up."

"Well," Blaine says, rolling onto his back. "I certainly feel crappy enough. God," he scoffs. What had happened last night?

He heaves another sigh, and his stomach gives an impressive roll. He groans, and a low burp makes its way up through his throat. "Ugh," he mutters. "How did I just notice that awful taste in my mouth?"

"Oh, yeah," Kurt says, nodding his head. "You've been throwing up all night."

"Well, fantastic," Blaine grunts as he pushes himself carefully into a sitting position. "But I don't think I'm finished yet." He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, groaning.

"To your right," Kurt says, jerking his head downward.

Blaine leans over the side of the couch, spotting a large bowl. He grabs it hastily as he stomach lurches and vomits into it. His stomach seems to be relentless, and a whimper escapes his lips between coughs. As he heaves again, a weight presses down on the couch next to him and a warm hand begins rubbing soothing circles on his back until he's finished.

"You okay?" Kurt asks, his eyebrows creased together in worry.

Blaine nods. "Yeah."

"You sure?" Kurt presses. "You actually look a little flushed . . . " He rests a hand on Blaine's forehead, but they both know Blaine most definitely isn't red from fever.

"It's just a hangover," Blaine reminds Kurt gently, and slowly, he pulls away.

They're silent for a moment; their faces are a little too close together, and neither of them dares to move until Blaine speaks, his eyes flickering across Kurt's face, lingering just a bit longer on his lips.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks, and his voice is barely above a whisper. "I thought you hated me."

Kurt shrugs. "You're wrong," he says simply, voice soft. "I don't hate you. I've never hated you."

Another pause, and Blaine feels a sudden thrill go through his heart.

"What about you?" Kurt counters. "I thought you hated me."

Blaine falters, and he doesn't quite know what to say.

No, he doesn't hate Kurt. He doesn't think he could, but he's a little afraid of what might come out of his mouth if he opens it, especially since it's so close to the lips Blaine's still staring at.

"Come on," Kurt says, standing up, and Blaine's shocked out of his light reverie. "We should probably get some food in you."

"Eh," Blaine says nervously, placing a hand over his stomach. "I don't know . . ."

"It will help with the nausea – I promise," Kurt assures, and he leads the way to the kitchen.

Blaine's unsteady on his feet and extremely lightheaded, but he makes it into the kitchen where he leans heavily against the center island.

"You can take a seat," Kurt says. "Jesus, you look like you're about to pass out."

"It's possible," Blaine mutters.

Blaine works to keep himself conscious, but zones out in the process, his face dropping into the palm of his hand. His mind wanders off, falling into a jumbled mess of thoughts – mostly centered around Kurt. He really has no idea what's happening, but the pounding in his heart is a huge sign. He just doesn't understand how? When this came to be? (And when did he even start being attracted to men?)

He shakes his head, trying to shake the sudden fear and anxiety rushing through him.

It's the alcohol.

It's only the alcohol talking.

That's definitely it.

He comes back to reality when a glass of water and a plate of toast is set down in front of them. His eyes flicker up to Kurt's, and he mutters a quiet, "Thank you."

He eats in silence, but he can't stop his eyes from continually darting to where Kurt sits across from him. At last, he clears his throat, getting Kurt's attention.

"What?" Kurt asks. "You okay? Are you going to be sick again?"

"No, no," Blaine says quickly, shaking his head and grinning. "I just wanted to tell you that you're wrong."

Kurt's eyebrows come together in a look of confusion.

"I don't hate you."

.

.

Blaine looks into the foggy mirror, running a hand through and teasing his wet curls. His eyes are still bloodshot somewhat, his skin paler than usual, but he's feeling better – even happier. It's just something about being here, about breaking that awful ice and learning to get along with Kurt that's put him in a good mood.

An unshakable grin is plastered to his lips as he reaches down to button his jeans and as he tugs a striped T-shirt of Kurt's over his head. Stronger, and feeling more comfortable, Blaine exits the bathroom, his clothes and towel underneath his armpit.

Kurt's lounging in the living room, his laptop balanced on his thighs as he types away. He looks up as Blaine enters and smiles fondly.

"Feeling better?" he asks.

"Much," Blaine replies and then holds up the laundry in his hand. "What do you want me to do with . . . ?" he asks, trailing off.

"Here, I'll take them," Kurt says as he stands up. He grabs the clothes from Blaine's arms and heads down the hallway.

Blaine's gaze follows him as he goes, a look of adoration on his face. He shakes his head quickly once he realizes what he's doing and turns his attention back to the living room. He steps up to the coffee table where his phone sits, now fully charged. Kurt must've plugged it in earlier.

A warm feeling rises in his chest for just a moment, and then he checks his messages, and his body goes cold. Over ten missed calls – all from his parents. Uneasiness grips at his stomach and he swallows hard, deleting each notification. He sits down hard on the couch, trying to breathe easy. He knows that as soon as he goes home, there's going to be hell to pay.

"Blaine, are you okay?"

Blaine looks up, clearing his expression and hoping it looks normal, happy even.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Blaine replies.

"You don't sound like it," Kurt counters, and he sits gently down next to Blaine.

"It's – " Blaine breaks off, shaking his head. "It's just after last night I know I'm going to be in trouble . . . particularly with my parents."

"Parents?" Kurt asks, and right – it's probably a little odd to him considering Blaine's twenty-one years old and should be able to make his own decisions by now.

"They're my agents," Blaine says quietly, almost bitter. "And that's really all they are."

Kurt nods, not entirely sure he gets it, but the anxious and slightly heartbroken look on Blaine's face tells him enough. "They're obsessed with their jobs, aren't they?"

Blaine presses his lips together, glancing at Kurt for just a second before looking away again. "Yeah," he says softly.

Kurt suppresses a sigh. He wants to reach out, to rub Blaine's arm, give him a reassuring touch, but he feels too awkward to do so, so he instead settles on going silent, letting Blaine reassure himself.

And as he sits there, watching the emotion leaking from Blaine's expression, seeing his walls knocked down and his insecurities on the surface, he's starting to realize just how wrong first impressions might be. And he know that it might be a challenge after the rocky beginning, but he really wants to get to know Blaine, wants to tear away all his layers and get to the raw person underneath.

"Can I ask you something?" Blaine asks, breaking through Kurt's mental babble.

"Hmmm?"

"Why did you take me here?" Blaine asks. "Why didn't you take me back to my parents'? I'm sure you could've asked Jeff or something."

That catches Kurt off guard – because duh, that would be the obvious thing to do, the smartest thing to do. But in that moment all he could think about was making sure Blaine was okay – that he wouldn't walk off and do something else completely stupid.

"Did you want me to?" Kurt asks, buying himself more time to think of an appropriate answer.

"No, no," Blaine assures. "That would've been awful – but . . why didn't you?"

Kurt shrugs. "It just seemed easier to bring you here," he says. "And like I said, I've never seen anyone so utterly wasted. I just wanted to make sure you wouldn't do something dangerous. You weren't exactly in a good state common sense-wise."

Blaine smirks slightly. "Well, I really appreciate everything. Thank you, Kurt."

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Just promise to never do it again?"

Blaine hesitates. "Not sure that I can."

Kurt laughs, but after a moment resumes seriousness. "But, Blaine," he starts, "you really should get some help, you know."

Blaine sighs. "I thought we were onto something good here – don't you start on me." He sounds exasperated, but he's still smirking.

"I'm being honest," Kurt says. "You should take better care of yourself."

"I know, I know," Blaine says, waving him off. "I'm working on it, I promise."

"Good," Kurt says, and he offers a shy, sincere smile. "Because I wouldn't want you getting in serious trouble."

.

.

Blaine would much rather spend the day with Kurt, but he has to face his parents eventually, and waiting longer will only make everything much worse. Kurt takes him home, dropping him off at the front of the estate. Blaine thanks him again, and Kurt gives him a smile, wishing him luck and hoping that things won't go too badly.

Blaine takes a deep breath as he watches Kurt's car disappear, and turns, standing tall and walks up to the house. The air is chilly, clouds looming overhead, and he rubs at his arms, wondering why he doesn't have his leather jacket. And with a sigh, he realizes he must've left it at Kurt's. He wraps his arms tightly around himself, keeping his head down until he reaches the front door. He pauses, takes a deep breath, and then heads for his destruction.

The house is silent when he enters, his boots clicking loudly against the wooden floor. He walks slowly down the hallway, peeking his head into each room and archway, looking for his parents who are surely waiting for him, ready to lecture him into next week.

He finds them in the study, seated at a desk and poring over papers. They both look up as soon as he enters, and where there's anger blazing in his father's eyes, his mother's are full of disappointment.

"I'm sorry," Blaine blurts out, because he doesn't know what else he can do.

Alan closes his eyes, shaking his head. "Don't," he says shortly, and Blaine feels his heart drop to the floor.

"Dad, I – " Blaine starts, but really what is he supposed to say? Either way, his dad's not going to listen to him.

"This has gone on long enough," Alan starts, sighing, and he stands up slowly, stepping toward his son.

"I know," Blaine says. "I'm trying – I am."

"You're not trying hard enough," Alan says.

"But I'm improving," Blaine presses. "I am – I promise. I just . . slipped up last night, that's all."

"And how many more times are you going to 'slip up', before it becomes the normal," Alan counters. "You may think you're improving, Blaine, but you're not. Everyone else is just realizing how serious this is and confronting you."

"No, Dad – you don't understand – "

"I understand perfectly," Alan says, his voice growing louder, harsher. "You are going nowhere. Nowhere, Blaine. You keep making the wrong choices, and we're not going to put up with it anymore."

"Dad, everyone makes wrong choices," Blaine says quietly, his eyebrows curving as he starts to lose his dignity. "I'm trying to make the right ones, I am. Honestly. I auditioned for this movie because I want to keep moving forward. I'm making an effort to get along with my personal team – I – I – "

"But you're still drinking," Alan says. "You're still going out and partying and getting drunk. You're still disobeying your mother and me. This addiction is only growing worse, Blaine, and it's time to take some action."

The word "addiction" hits Blaine like a slap in the face. Yes, it's obvious he's having trouble with alcohol consumption, but he never thought of it as an addiction. He only saw it as his stupid way to cope, the answer to his stress that he never tried to fight.

He never thought of this as alcoholism.

But now it's starting to hit him that maybe this problem is greater than him. Maybe it's more than just self-control and his stress level. Maybe this is beyond his own fixing, and maybe he does need help.

His father takes a deep breath, pulling Blaine back into the conversation.

"Blaine, we think you should visit a rehabilitation center."

These words only send him drowning deeper in his anxiety.

Yes, he needs help – but he's nowhere near ready to accept it. He's got so much going on without having to worry about rehab. He's got the movie, interviews, press conferences, and Kurt – oh god, Kurt. He's having a fucking sexual identity crisis, and the last thing he needs is to be deprived of alcohol at this point.

Before going into rehab, Blaine just needs to get himself in order. He needs to figure out himself, and maybe, possibly the problem will fix itself – who knows? If he can figure out his feelings towards Kurt, if he can get through this movie, then maybe he won't rely on alcohol so much.

It's a long shot, but it's what he's hoping for.

"Dad, wait," Blaine says quickly.

"Blaine, no – this is serious. You can't keep doing this."

"Please," Blaine says. "Just – just give me more time."

Alan sighs again, frustrated. "If we wait any longer, it will just get worse."

"Please, Dad," Blaine begs, his voice quiet, honest. "Just hear me out."

Alan crosses his arms, shaking his head for a moment. "Fine – what do you want?"

"The end of the movie," Blaine says, clasping his hands together. "Just give me until the end of this movie, and – and if I'm still having trouble getting myself together, I'll check into rehab."

"Blaine, I don't – "

"Please," Blaine says, his voice almost a whisper. "I don't want to keep doing this, Dad. I don't want to be like this, but I just – I have so much on my plate, I wouldn't be able to concentrate. And honestly, besides last night, I've been feeling much more in control. Quinn and Jeff have been helping me a lot, and even Kurt. Just until the end of the movie."

Alan hesitates, biting his lip.

"Fine," he says at last. "You made a good point. Your schedule is really hectic right now. But afterwards," he says seriously. "I want you concentrated on rehabilitation. I want you to get over this, Blaine."

Blaine's not exactly sure what his father means by the last sentence – is he still in agent mode, or does he suddenly actually care?

Either way, Blaine nods awkwardly, pressing his lips together, and with an awkward last nod, he leaves the room, his heart racing through his chest.

.

.

Blaine actually knocks on Quinn's office door and stands there nervously, his hands in his pockets. He stares at the ground, only looking up when the door opens. And all that he sees is a flash of blond hair before arms wrap themselves around him and he's pulled into a bone-crushing hug.

"Quinn – " he chokes out. "Can't breathe here."

She releases him, a warm smile on her face, and he immediately pulls her back into a softer hug.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly as he lets go, and she returns by punching his arm.

"Don't ever scare me like that again, Blaine Anderson," she says. "God, I thought I something horrible happened to you."

"But you found me eventually," Blaine says, sheepish.

"Yeah," Quinn says, her eyes widening threateningly. "And you looked awful and then you kept getting sick and you weren't aware of your surroundings and Jeff had to practically drag me away because I didn't want to leave you. But Kurt assured he would take care of you and alert of us if anything happened. I was _beyond _worried."

Blaine smiles, almost sad. "Don't worry about me so much, Quinn. I don't even deserve someone like you."

"Don't say that," Quinn says. "Of course you do."

Blaine shakes his head slightly, but shuts up, not wanting to argue – he already feels terrible enough for worrying her.

"Are you okay?" she asks softly, looking worriedly into his eyes.

He closes his eyes, wishing he was. And after taking a sigh, he spits out what's haunting him. "My parents want to send me to a rehabilitation center."

Quinn pauses, quiet as she takes that in. "Oh. . . "

"But I'm not going now," Blaine assures. "I asked them to give me until the end of the movie, and if I'm not improving by then, it's rehab."

"Don't worry," Quinn says instantly, and she reaches up, resting her hand on Blaine's shoulder. "Jeff, Kurt, and I will help you – I promise. We'll get through this, Blaine."

He forces a subdued smile, not entirely convinced. "Thanks," he says quietly, and Quinn pulls him in for one more hug.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So I think my update days have changed to Saturdays. I've just become too busy during the week. But I'm not sure if I'll be updating next week. I'll be gone all weekend, and I don't think _anything'_s going to get done so soon after Tuesday.

Anyway, again, a huge, HUGE thanks to all of you who are still sticking with. I'm baffled more and more each update.

Also, I've been getting a lot of questions regarding Blaine's sexuality in this story, and to that all I can say is - just wait. This is a Klaine fic - keep that in mind.


	7. Chapter 7

**seven.**

* * *

><p>It's an early day for Blaine, and to be honest, he's just glad to be out of the house – away from his parents. Even if he had to get up before nine o'clock. He just wants to be away from their disappointed glances and the judgmental atmosphere. They're watching his every move now, looking for surefire signs that will send him to rehab.<p>

The streets are quieter in the morning, not so bustling and crowded, but still full of life. The sun is softer, the air cooler, and Blaine likes the peaceful feeling that surrounds him. With a coffee in hand (he might try switching to it more often), he makes his way up to Quinn's office, early for his meeting with her.

As he steps from the elevator, he nearly crashes into someone.

"Oh – sorry!"

It's Kurt, bright and smiling, and Blaine feels something twist in his chest.

"Oh, hey, Blaine," he says cheerfully. "Why are you here so early?"

"I have a meeting with Quinn," Blaine replies.

"Really?" Kurt asks. "Me too."

Blaine's eyebrows crease together. "She didn't say you would be there. Did she tell you that I - ?"

Kurt shakes his head. "Well," he says. "Let's just go see what she wants, shall we?"

"Right behind you," Blaine says, and he follows after Kurt down the hallway.

Kurt knocks on the door, and after a muffled, "Come in!" from Quinn, opens it, stepping inside. "Blaine and I are here," Kurt says, and Blaine slips inside after him.

Quinn surveys them for a moment, almost look surprised. "Well," she says. "It's nice to see you two actually getting along."

Kurt nods, and Blaine catches himself smiling, because oh, it _so_ is.

"Well, anyway," Quinn says, sitting up straighter. "I've just been talking with different magazines and photographers, and Blaine – " she looks towards him, "you and Santana will be doing a photoshoot on Wednesday."

Blaine nods biting his lip.

Oh, God. This is what he's been dreading. Getting thrown back into the media with swarms of paparazzi following him everywhere. He should expect this because of how big the movie is, but everything was finally dying down and this just leaves more room for him to screw up and for everyone to twist his words and start rumors.

"Is there going to be an interview?" Blaine asks warily.

"Possibly," Quinn says, evidently unsure. "Maybe. There's a chance."

Blaine groans.

"It'll be fine," Quinn says quickly. "I'll be there," she assures. "And Kurt." She looks to him now, ignoring Blaine's distressed expression. "Kurt, they want you to be there to help with Blaine's fitting and the outfit selection."

"Alright," Kurt says. "That's not a problem."

Blaine suppresses a sigh.

Kurt coming with only makes things worse – but not in the "god-he's-going-to-irritate-the-shit-outta-me" way, but more the fact that they're going to be in such a close proximity most of the day. Kurt's going to helping him in and out of clothes and there'll be room for joking and talking, and Blaine's feelings are already messed up and confusing enough as it is. This just gives him more opportunity to stress out.

Quinn looks to him, shaking her head. "You'll be fine, Blaine."

"You're not the one that has to go through it," Blaine points out. "God, I just hate talking to reporters _all the time_."

"You haven't talked to one in weeks," Quinn says. "It's about time you get back out there. The press is starved for your attention."

"Always on my shoulders," Blaine sighs.

"Suck it up," Quinn says absently, but her smile is warm. "I'm going to be there with you, alright? It'll be over before you know it."

Blaine rolls his eyes, but returns a grin.

"Well," Quinn says. "I guess you guys are free to go then. Enjoy your day."

Blaine gets up slowly, trying not to groan in frustration.

Honestly, he does know that tomorrow probably will go well, but he's just so nervous. It's the first time he'll be directly back in the media since he drunkenly fired his last stylist, and also given the fact that he seems to be breaking apart at the seams, it feels like the most difficult thing to do.

Out in the hall, Kurt turns to Blaine, cautious.

"How – how'd everything go?" he asks. "With your parents."

Blaine raises his eyebrows without looking at Kurt, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Oh," he says softly. "That."

"That bad?" Kurt asks.

Blaine laughs humorlessly, scratching his cheek. "Yeah, they – they want me to go to a rehabilitation center."

Kurt's eyes widen, his lips parting into a small "oh." "So, are you - ?"

"No," Blaine says, shaking his head. "I have until after the movie. After that, if I haven't improved, it's off to rehab."

Kurt thinks a moment, and then nods. "You'll improve," he says, confident. "I mean if you can get over despising me, you'll beat alcohol with no effort."

Blaine chuckles slightly, even though that uncomfortable feeling in his chest increases.

"I really hope so," he says.

Kurt bites his lip, looking at Blaine with a mixture between pity, sympathy, and the will to understand. Blaine catches his eye just for a second and forces a smile.

.

.

Blaine's been sitting, strumming his guitar, playing around with lyrics in his head for at least an hour when the door to his dressing room opens. He looks up, keeping his fingers on the frets, strumming lightly and slowly.

It's Jeff, laptop folded neatly under his arm.

"You're up early," he comments. "It's not even noon yet."

Blaine rolls his eyes, but smirks. "And what are you doing here knowing I wouldn't be, hmm?" he counters.

"Kurt," Jeff says simply. "We are friends, you know."

"Yeah," Blaine says, and Santana's right – there's a small stab of jealousy. "Anyway," Blaine continues, changing his tone of voice and setting his guitar by his side. "I want to apologize, Jeff."

"For what?" Jeff asks, sitting down in a chair next to him.

Blaine raises his eyebrows. "For running off the other night."

"Oh, right," Jeff says, nodding his head. "It's fine, Blaine. I mean, yeah – it was really scary, but we found you, right? And I think you've learned from it."

Blaine nods, sighing heavily. He's learned quite a lot, actually.

"We're good," Jeff assures. "You're my best friend, Blaine. You always will be."

Blaine smiles, almost shy, and a blush creeps up his neck. "Thanks," he says quietly, and Jeff nods.

And as Jeff opens up his laptop, starting it up, Blaine grabs his guitar again, strumming a few chords until he has a good rhythm going. He experiments with melodies and harmonies, humming along while the lyrics flash through his mind. He keeps himself occupied with this until Jeff shifts his weight, and his laptop screen catches Blaine's eye.

There's a picture up – of two guys in the middle of a crowd of blurry people. One is white-blond, his brown eyes alight with happiness as he smiles widely.

The other has shiny, brown hair, stuck up and haphazardly slicked back. His eyes are much more captivating - about three different shades of blue-green and they're positively glittering. His smile is huge, showing off his teeth and crinkling his eyes.

"Is that - ?" Blaine starts.

"Kurt and I?" Jeff asks. "Yeah. We tried to take a picture but started cracking up mid-capture and we just decided to keep it anyway."

"It's a good one," Blaine agrees, swallowing hard.

"I got a lot of good pictures," Jeff says. "Mostly of the band, but there's plenty good ones of Kurt, and a few of me. It was fun photographing him," Jeff says with a laugh. "I've never seen him so loose – he was insane."

Blaine nods, biting his lip, not exactly sure what to say. However, Jeff can practically read his mind.

"Do you want to see them?" he asks, his tone slightly teasing.

"Yeah," Blaine admits, rubbing his neck.

Jeff chuckles and clicks back to the beginning of the album, going through each photo one by one, adding explanations here and there for some of them. He seems to know that Blaine really enjoys hearing about it all.

Blaine finds himself liking each picture better than the last, watching as the smile grows on Kurt's face, his eyes growing more alive and his hair becoming more and more disheveled. He looks so carefree, so happy, and God, it's a beautiful sight. Blaine's never seen Kurt looking this happy, but he would like to. He's seen Kurt looking upset too many times, and he looks so much better with a smile on his face.

And he might desperately want to be the reason.

He's annoyed Kurt, he's hurt Kurt, he's made Kurt feel awful and alone, and he doesn't want to do that anymore. He wants to make Kurt smile, make him laugh, he wants to be the reason Kurt's happy and content. He wants to make Kurt feel like he's worth something, but he's fucked up a little too much. He needs to change that. He needs to make things up to Kurt and clear his slate.

He just wants to start things over and do them right this time around.

.

.

It's late at night, possibly early morning – Blaine can't really tell. He just knows that he should be sleeping, but he can't. His mind is too busy, filled and whirring with thoughts. Questions and worries and wonders running around through his brain.

And they're all about Kurt.

And no matter how hard he tries, he can't calm them. He looks at Kurt and feels his heart skip a beat. He hears Kurt's name and he's suddenly alert, holding his breath. And now he's lying in bed late into the night just thinking about him, and soon he'll dream about him, no doubt. He feels like he's eight years old again, crushing on the tall, blond-haired girl in his third-grade class.

And that's where this gets complicated.

Because Blaine's always liked girls.

Kurt's the first to change that, and it's – let's be honest, it's scaring the shit out of Blaine. He's never felt like this towards another man. He's never felt this desire, this attraction and though he does – he really likes Kurt, he's terrified.

But he's not terrified of rejection or heartbreak or anything like that. He's scared of his feelings, of his longing for a relationship. It's all so new, so different, and fuck, what does it mean?

He continually second-guesses himself, wondering if he wants just a friendship with Kurt, or if he really does want to date him, kiss him, hold him, love him. He shakes his head, telling himself it's the former, but at the end of the day, the truth is he's falling for Kurt.

He's falling fast and hard, ready to crash straight into the ground.

.

.

"Well, well, well – look who's here today."

Blaine looks up from his seat to find Santana looming over him. He sighs, sitting up straighter. He got absolutely no sleep last night, and he really doesn't feel like dealing with her attitude right now. "What do you want, Santana?"

"How much trouble did you get in?" she asks, ignoring him.

"What do you mean?" he asks, eyebrows coming together in confusion.

"Oh, please," Santana scoffs. "Listen," she starts. "Everyone else in this cast might believe you were sick the other day, but I know better. Hangover really that bad?"

"Fuck off," Blaine mutters. "I'm not in the mood, Santana."

Santana nearly laughs. "I'm not here to judge you, Blaine. I'm the last person who should be judging you. I was just being curious, is all. I like gossiping."

"Well, I don't," Blaine snaps. "So can you just leave me alone?" He crosses his arms over his chest, looking away from her.

"Well, Jesus, someone's irritable today," Santana says, and she takes a seat next to him. "What's wrong – is Kurt annoying you again?"

"It's nothing," Blaine says quickly, but that's such a lie, because in reality it's everything.

"No it's not," Santana argues, and her voice suddenly goes much softer, the snarky tone gone. "Seriously, Blaine – what's wrong? You look like you're going to be sick."

Blaine bites his lip, shaking his head in a jerky fashion. He lets out a long, frustrated sigh. "I'm just really stressed out right now."

"That's it?" Santana asks. "Or is there something more?"

And Blaine really can't keep it in any longer. It's been driving him crazy even though it's hardly been two days (though really, the whole concept has been much longer). He needs reassurance, he needs guidance or he might just break down and go insane.

"You're right," he says, voice quiet, throat tight.

"I'm right?" Santana asks. "About what?"

Blaine makes a noise of distress. "Kurt," he spits out. "It's Kurt."

"So, you guys are still fighting?" Santana asks, unsure. "It's worse?"

"No," Blaine says. "The exact opposite really."

It's quiet for a moment as Santana tries to figure out what he's saying. "I don't – _oh_."

"Yeah," Blaine says flatly.

"Well," Santana says. "Can't say I blame you. It's hard not to be attracted to that man."

Blaine whirls to face her, his expression wild. "Except I'm not attracted to men, Santana!" He's breathing hard, a lost look in his eyes. He collapses against himself, putting his head in his hands.

"Oh," Santana breathes. "I see."

"I don't know what to do," Blaine moans.

"Well, I say the first thing you should do is accept yourself," Santana says softly. "You can't pursue a relationship with him if you're not comfortable with your sexuality."

"But that's the problem," Blaine sighs sitting up. "I don't know what my sexuality is. Santana, I – I'm not gay – I – "

"Well, you're obviously not heterosexual," Santana replies bluntly, and she crosses her legs, looking thoughtful. "I mean – you could just be Kurt-sexual. It's possible. I mean he's so fucking fine, how can you not be attracted to that?"

"Santana," Blaine says desperately, and his voice nearly cracks. "This is serious."

"You're right," Santana says quickly. "I'm sorry."

"What – I just – I don't know what to do," Blaine says exasperatedly. He puts his face in his hands again, breathing deeply.

"Alright, Blaine," Santana says, her tone serious. "Just pull yourself together for a minute."

Blaine looks blearily up at her, and damn, this really is tearing him apart. Santana's not sure she's ever seen him looking so broken, and that's saying something because he's really a fucked up person.

"I know how difficult this is," she continues.

"Do you?" Blaine asks, skeptical. "Do you really?"

Santana exhales roughly, looking away from him for a second.

Should she tell him? Can she trust him?

But one look back at him and seeing the way he's hunched over in protection from himself, defending against judgment. The way his eyes are slightly unfocused, dark circles underneath them. The lines of stress defining his face – she knows this feeling all too well. She looks at Blaine and she sees herself.

"Blaine," she sighs, "I'm going to tell you something. Something extremely personal. Something only my family and a few of my close friends know. I want to tell more people, but my publicist thinks otherwise."

His eyebrows crease lazily together, showing just how much of a strain he's under.

Santana closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. Opening them, she says, "I'm a lesbian."

Blaine immediately sits up straighter, his eyes widening. "You – "

"I'm gay," she repeats. "I like women. I like vaginas, not penises – get the picture?"

Blaine doesn't even smile, and Santana looks at him worriedly. She reaches out, resting a hand on his knee. "I've been through this, Blaine. Three years ago, I was in this exact position."

She's got his attention now, even though he's still silent.

"Her name was Brittany Pierce," Santana says. "She was my choreographer for a musical I was doing. She was beautiful and funny and so, so intelligent, but I was the only one who saw it. We grew close and we went out, but when I admitted my feelings to her, she was already in love with someone else."

"I'm – I'm sorry," Blaine says quietly.

"Yeah, it was hell," Santana says. "I went through this crisis – wondering why I was suddenly falling for a girl. It was weird, because I used to sleep around with every guy I could get my hands on. It never occurred to me the reason I couldn't handle a relationship was because I was looking at the wrong sex. But I figured it out. I realized that men couldn't fulfill that empty feeling – but Brittany could, and later a few other women. It took me long time, but I eventually I accepted myself. And now I'm just waiting for the rest of the world to except me – and namely, my publicist."

"My publicist will accept me," Blaine says instantly. "Whatever I am, I know she will."

Santana smiles. "Then I'm happy for you." She pauses, shifting her weight. "Now, you don't have to figure it out now, but Blaine, have you ever thought that maybe you've been attracted to other men?"

Blaine sighs, running a hand through his hair.

This is the hardest part.

Because he thinks he has. He definitely thinks he's attracted to women, but the way Santana describes it – fulfilling that empty feeling. No woman's ever done that. Only Kurt so far seems to have a chance at that.

He thinks back, tries to recall, and become obvious now that he's never been completely heterosexual. He can remember times where he paused and thought that a boy he passed on the street, or a guy in a movie with him was cute. He'd shrugged it off, blaming it on stress or lack of sleep, something messing up his mind. He never admitted to it just being who he was.

"Santana," he says. "I don't – maybe. I think so, but I – I'm not sure."

He wants to admit it, he does. He wants to just believe firmly in his sexuality, but he's just so unsure. Because he's looking at Santana now, and he remembers the first time he saw her on set, he thought she was so striking, so fuckable, but would she fulfill that empty feeling? Could he be with her?

He really doesn't know.

Maybe he hasn't met the right girl yet.

But he has met Kurt, and that's what's throwing him off.

Because he likes Kurt, but maybe it's something else. Maybe it's Kurt's attitude – how he treats Blaine differently than everyone else. Does Blaine simply want friendship, or is he really looking for something more? He thinks a moment, and his head hurts.

He doesn't know.

He can't decide.

His brain just keeps arguing with his heart and it seems to be getting nowhere.

"You don't have to decide now," Santana says softly, and Blaine ignores the voice babbling in his mind. "Just give yourself time," she continues. "You don't have to label yourself now – not ever if you don't want to. Sexuality is made out to be this solid thing, but the truth is, it's not. Sexuality is such a spectrum, Blaine. You don't have to be one hundred percent gay. You could be bisexual, you could be pansexual. Not everyone falls in love with a certain gender either, Blaine. You fall in love with a person. Don't worry about it now. If you like guys and only guys, so be it. If you like both genders, great. If gender really doesn't seem to matter than you, that's fine. Who you fall in love with doesn't define you, Blaine. And that's all you need to remember. Don't let the fact that you might be in love with a guy stop you from chasing after him. It may not be what you're used to, but if it's real, if it's there, don't fight it, Blaine. Don't pay attention to labels and just listen to your heart, okay?"

Blaine is silent, staring at Santana with such a soft expression on his face, his eyes glazed over and his eyebrows dipping over them. His mouth is slightly open, as if he wants to say something, but no words come out.

"Blaine?" Santana ventures.

And he throws his arms around her.

"Whoa – okay, little close there," she says, trying and failing to push him off. He stays firmly locked and with a roll of her eyes, she hugs him back, rubbing his back.

"Thank you," he says as he pulls away. "Thank you so much."

Santana blushes and looks away, hoping he won't notice. "Well, it's like I said. I've been there before, so when you need to talk, I'm here."

Blaine shakes his head and lets out a noise between a sob and a laugh. "I've never really admitted needing someone before," he says quietly, voice almost a whisper. "But without you, I really don't know how I'd handle this."

Santana smiles. "I'm glad I could be of some help. But watch it, Anderson. I don't need everyone coming to me for counseling."

Blaine smiles back.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Yay, I finally updated again! And by now, I just - I don't even know what to say. All of you are _so_ amazing.


	8. Chapter 8

**eight.**

* * *

><p>Breathing is easier now.<p>

Blaine's learning; he's slowly coming to accept everything.

It's hard and it's nerve-wracking, but he's taking Santana's advice, and he's not going to worry about his sexuality just yet. He's not going to worry about pursuing a romantic relationship with Kurt either. He's just going to be Kurt's friend, and if that amounts to anything, then so be it.

He has time, he has options, and he's not going to worry about things he doesn't need to.

He's going to stay calm and focus on other things.

(And even though he tries to tell himself that Kurt's not important right now, he's still all Blaine can think about).

.

.

A breeze rushes around Blaine as he steps from the car. He squints against the sun, looking nervously around the street. There's only a few paparazzi around now, but he knows they'll be more later. Turning his attention away from them he follows quickly after Quinn and Kurt, entering the building.

The studio is already bustling with people – photographers setting up their cameras, fashion consultants stocking wardrobes, reporters typing away on their cell phones. Across the large, high-ceiling room, three backdrops are set up. Racks of clothing are scattered haphazardly across the floor, and make up tables are set up unevenly in rows to his right. He spots Santana sitting at one at ease, her legs crossed and her nose buried in a fashion magazine.

He decides that he won't bug her just yet and turns his attention to Kurt, whose eyes are bright and lips upturned as he looks around the studio in awe.

"Excited?" Blaine asks.

"I'm going to have so much fun," Kurt says, his voice taking on an almost mischievous tone. And oh god, the way his eyes are sparkling, his face alight with that obvious excitement. It makes Blaine's heart do a strange little flip-flop and he has to suppress a sigh.

Nope.

He really cannot deny it anymore. Fuck sexuality, whatever he is – either way, he's falling for Kurt. He's falling so hard.

"That's only because you're going to torture me with the clothes you squeeze me in," Blaine says.

Kurt laughs slightly. "Well," he starts. "Let's just say I hope you aren't opposed to drag."

Blaine snorts, suppressing an obnoxious laugh. "That would depend on how much glitter you're planning to include."

"Oh, don't worry," Kurt assures. "The corset doesn't contain that many sequins."

Blaine brings his hand up, laughing into the side of his palm as he tries to keep it under control. It's not even that funny, but Kurt has a way with making everything so much better than it is. Blaine's smiles are a little bit wider, his laugh a little bit louder, and that happy feeling stays a little bit longer.

"Kurt!"

Both he and Blaine turn, looking back at Quinn, who's standing next to someone with a Bluetooth and clipboard. She beckons for him to come over and he nods.

"See you later then," Kurt says, giving Blaine a shy smile, and he hurries over to her.

As Blaine walks away, he runs a hand through his curls, letting out a sigh of contentment. Getting along with Kurt is so much better than fighting.

Blaine looks around awkwardly for a moment before he spots Santana again, and he heads straight for her, not really knowing what else to do.

Santana lowers her magazine as he approaches, looking right into his eye, almost as if she could sense him. Blaine sits in one of the open chairs next to her, leaning back and crossing his legs.

"Well," she starts, turning to face him. "You and Kurt are certainly much friendlier than the last time I saw you. I do recall you calling him a 'bitch' before."

Blaine closes his eyes, shaking his head. "I was stupid, alright. He's definitely not a . . 'bitch.' He's really very kind."

"And you are absolutely smitten with him," Santana says.

"I am not smitten," Blaine says, crossing his arms.

"Um, please," Santana replies. "You looked like a fucking drooling puppy staring at him just now. You are completely smitten."

"Okay, so I might like him," Blaine agrees. "But I am not smitten. No."

"Fine," Santana says with a sigh. "I'm not going to argue with you. But you obviously don't just 'like' him. We've gone through this."

"Just fuck off," Blaine says, shaking his head.

Santana tries and fails to hide a smirk. "You're only angry because I'm right."

Blaine says nothing and turns his head away, his arms still crossed.

Santana sighs, and carefully, she leans closer to him, lowering his voice. "So, are you okay, Blaine? Are you . . . coming to terms with everything?"

Blaine turns back, shifting his weight a little. He looks down at his lap as he speaks. "Well, it's like you said – I don't have to make a decision now."

He looks to her for a little reassurance, and Santana nods. "You don't have to make a decision ever, Blaine," she replies. You don't have to label yourself if you don't want to."

"I – I know," Blaine says quickly. "But you never know. One sexuality might become clearer to me as time goes on. But – but for right now, I am just going to listen to my heart. It's telling me to go after Kurt, and that's what I'm going to do. Maybe not fast, but I am."

Santana smiles, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm proud of you, Blaine."

He smiles back, wide and honest, because that might just be one of the only times he's ever heard it; definitely the first in a long time.

.

.

More powder is dusted over Blaine's face, and he holds back a sneeze.

He reaches up, pinching his nose briefly before allowing the makeup artist to keep going. But it's not too soon until Blaine's eyes start to water from the mascara and eyeliner. He really just doesn't have a good relationship with makeup.

"Alright," the makeup woman sighs. "You're good."

Blaine nods, thanking her, and as soon as she turns away, sneezes violently a few times into his elbow.

"Jesus."

Blaine shakes his head in a jerky motion before looking up, blinking back the tears in his eyes. "I think the correct words are, 'bless you,'" he says, smirking.

Kurt grins back. "Seriously, what just happened? It sounded like something was trying to explode out of your face."

"I sneezed," Blaine replies incredulously. "I apologize for my obnoxiousness - fuck."

Kurt laughs. "Come on," he says. "I was sent to get you in wardrobe – let's go."

"Pushy, pushy," Blaine mutters as he hops down from his seat.

Kurt smacks him in return, beginning to walk through the maze of tables, chairs, and other equipment.

"Abuse," Blaine says. "I am being abused by the help."

"Help," Kurt scoffs. "I am not help. Don't degrade the man who saved you from certain destruction the other night."

"Certain destruction?" Blaine asks, raising his eyebrows. "I'm pretty sure you just saved from waking up with a hangover behind a bar rather than in your living room."

"Please," Kurt says, shaking his head. "Who knows what would have happened in that shady lot. I also got you out of work, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah," Blaine mutters. "But I think 'certain destruction' is overstepping a bit."

Kurt simply shakes his head again, chuckling under his breath. "Shut up."

"Now I'm being verbally abused," Blaine says. "This is not okay."

"Oh my god, really?" Kurt asks, leading him into a secluded area behind bright white dividers. "Just get undressed."

"If you insist," Blaine shrugs, pulling off his t-shirt.

Kurt closes his eyes briefly, face-palming.

"Don't pretend you don't like it," Blaine says, stretching his arms behind his back, showing off his very defined muscles – mostly his biceps, and dear god, his abdomen.

Kurt ignores the blush creeping up his neck and starts raiding through the nearest clothing rack, looking for clothes labeled Blaine Anderson. His hands flick nervously around, looking for the sweater and slacks they're dressing Blaine up in first. He takes it from the racks, turning cautiously towards Blaine.

"Oh, pants too," Blaine replies, and he proceeds to strip with no shame.

Kurt utters a noise of disbelief and turns his head to the side, biting his lip.

"What?" Blaine asks. "Does this bother you? Would you rather my underwear come off as well?"

Kurt shakes his head and chucks the clothes at Blaine. "Put them on," he says exasperatedly.

Blaine snickers, but does as he's asked. "How does it look?"

Kurt looks over him, cocking his head as his lips purse out. "Hmm," he muses and steps forward, reaching out and grasping the waistband of Blaine's slacks with the tips of his fingers. "They're just a bit too long, but it won't take me too long to hem them."

Kurt's fingers scraping against his stomach, so delicate and soft, Blaine feels the breath leave his lungs. He presses his lips together, hoping that Kurt can't hear the pulsing of his heart going wild in his chest. Kurt pulls back, and Blaine's able to breathe again.

"Alright," Kurt says. "Onto the next outfit."

There's a total of five carefully-picked outfits lined up for Blaine, and he and Kurt slowly go through them all, Blaine getting more and more lightheaded each time Kurt's fingers ghost over him as he pins and prods. And Kurt fights so many blushes by the time they're done he's surprised he doesn't actually look like he's sunburnt.

It takes a good hour, but soon enough, Kurt's got all the fixed outfits lined up on a rack, and Blaine's lounging in a makeup chair, his first outfit on and his hair perfectly messy, his makeup still dusted across his face.

"Come on," Kurt says, strolling over to him. "I actually think Santana got done before us."

Blaine hops up from his seat, and follows after Kurt.

The rack suddenly stops, making a squeaking sound, and Kurt groans, yanking it. "The wheels suck," he mutters. Another squeaking sound and Kurt swears under his breath.

"I've got it," Blaine says quickly, and he takes the rack, pushing it along. From behind, it's easier to move.

"Thank you," Kurt says, almost looking confused, and yeah, Blaine's confused himself.

More than confused.

Because even small little things like this – Blaine never even would've considered, too wrapped up in his own pessimistic attitude.

"You're welcome," Blaine says, and a smile forms on his lips because even if it's little by little, he feels like he's redeeming himself to Kurt.

.

.

The shoot is long, and Blaine is growing so utterly tired by the end of it. Striking poses and trying to look angry, sultry, serious, bored. And then he's put with Santana and they have to wrap their arms around each other, trying to look happy and in love, like they're their characters, except not really. With fans blowing and photographers shouting directions at him, Blaine struggles through it all, getting more and more exhausted as the time flies by.

At least they don't have a set or props, Blaine thinks bitterly. Just a white backdrop- classy. However, the changing in and out of clothes is tiring, and he just wants to know why he can't stay in one outfit.

But seeing Kurt each time brightens him up just a little bit, pushing him to keep going and to get this over with.

"Turn to right just a bit!" the photographer shouts. "No – you, Blaine – turn!"

Blaine suppresses a sigh and turns slightly, keeping his hand on Santana's arm.

"Now, Santana, lean into him a little more."

She does so, and it's obvious both of them are extremely uncomfortable, straining their bodies and holding them in ways that aren't natural and hurt after a few seconds.

"Great job! We're almost done."

"Thank God," Blaine mutters under his breath, and he hears Santana chuckle slightly next to him.

A few more flashes and another awkward pose, and their done. Blaine stretches out his arms, attempts to crack his back, and undoes the bowtie around his neck, unbuttoning the first two buttons of his shirt.

"You sure looked like you were having fun," Kurt says with a chuckle as he walks up to Blaine.

"Oh, I was having a grand time," Blaine says sarcastically. "Especially when I had to twist my arm like that during the last picture." He grunts as he pulls his arm cross his chest. "I think I pulled something."

Kurt laughs, his nose crinkling up the slightest, and Blaine mentally slaps himself for noticing how cute it is. He begins walking towards the food table where Santana already is, grabbing herself a soda. Blaine follows after him, continuing to stretch.

"Oh my God," Kurt says, suddenly stopping in his tracks. Blaine follows his gaze to just past the food table where a group of people stand huddled, talking.

"What?" Blaine asks. "They're just stylists, aren't they?"

"No, no," Kurt says quickly. "See the lady? The one with spiky red hair?"

Blaine nods, still confused.

"She's a designer," Kurt explains. "Laric Westfield. She works for the new emerging designer label 'Ütopia.' She's incredible."

"Well, so are you," Blaine says. "I've seen some of your stuff."

Kurt blushes, lowering his head. "No," he disagrees. "I'm not outgoing and cutting edge like her."

"But you're still amazing," Blaine says, and Kurt laughs.

"Blaine, do you know anything about fashion or design?" he asks.

"No," Blaine says. "But – "

"So there you go," Kurt says, flicking his hand. "I can hardly trust your judgment."

"But I know what looks good and what doesn't," Blaine says defensively. "I know about fashion – I just don't keep up with it to the extent of someone who is a designer would."

"I'm not a designer," Kurt points out.

"But you could be," Blaine says.

Kurt nods, staring longingly over at the Ms. Laric Westfield. "Maybe," he says. "Possibly."

"I don't doubt it," Blaine says, and there's already a plan brewing in his mind.

.

.

Blaine glances over his shoulder as he stumbles around the racks, making sure no one's seen him come in here. He bends down, opening Kurt's bag and shoves the file full of papers back in it, making sure everything looks exactly the same as before, untouched.

"Blaine?"

He freezes for a second, but then straightens up and backing away from Kurt's bag, trying to look natural.

"Blaine, are you in here?" Kurt's voice asks, and he steps around the corner. "Blaine, where have you been?"

Blaine opens his mouth to say something, but Kurt shakes his head.

"Never mind," he says. "Anyway, we've got to go."

"Go?" Blaine asks, confused. "Where?"

"You and Santana have an interview session," Kurt says, and he turns, leading Blaine back out into the studio.

Blaine groans, hanging his head back for a second.

"Oh, man up," Kurt replies. "It'll go by quickly."

They walk closer and closer to a closed door, and Santana's leaned up against the wall beside it, scrolling through her phone. She looks up as Kurt and Blaine walk over, shoving her phone in her pocket.

"Alright," Kurt says. "I've got to help the other stylists, so I'll just leave you here."

"Wait – " Blaine calls as Kurt walks away, but Kurt simply turns back a second, smirking, and walks on. "Bastard," Blaine mutters.

Santana snorts behind him. Blaine frowns, tugging at his collar, and he wriggles a little in his tight pants.

"Okay, whoa – watch it," Santana say sharply.

"Hey, I'm just trying to free myself," Blaine replies. "Kurt found a unique way to try and strangle me."

"Oh my god, would you knock it off," Santana says. "We're supposed to be professional, and I already have my publicist breathing down my neck."

Blaine holds still, scowling at her.

The door opens, and he straightens up instantly feeling a surge of butterflies fill his stomach. A woman steps out, a wide The interviewer smile on her face. She holds out her hand, saying, "Hello, Santana. Blaine. I'm Carlie Willows. Thank you so much for coming here today and allowing me to interview you."

Santana shakes her hand, smiling right back, and Blaine has to keep himself from blinking in shock because whoa, she's being polite. He shakes the interviewers hand and smiles as well, trying to get his nerves down. Carlie now leads them into the room behind her.

There's three chairs set up, two side by side and another facing them. A laptop is set on a side table next to the single chair, as well as a couple of small microphones.

Santana and Blaine take seats next to each other, and Blaine settles back, crossing his legs.

"Alright," Carlie says as she settles herself. "Let's just jump into the questions, shall we?" she asks, and Santana and Blaine nod their agreement. "First question – what is this role like for you? Does it come easy? Are there any personal connections you have?"

"Well," Santana starts, shifting her weight. "For me, it was a bit nerve-wracking, because I was actually a huge fan of the book. And now getting to play one of the main characters – it's a dream come true. I love the depth and the emotion of Emily's character, and really, it's been a joy and an honor to play her."

"And you, Blaine?" Carlie asks.

He takes a deep breath, and just dives right in. "Yeah, it's sort of like Santana said. I was really excited about this movie, and reading the script, I knew they'd be able to do the book justice. So actually, it was kind of a shock they picked me. But I've been able to slip into Robert's character, and it's – it's been great fun."

"How is your relationship with the other cast members?"

"Oh, it's wonderful," Santana says. "Everyone's so great. I feel blessed that I get to work with them."

"Now, Blaine," Carlie says, sounding a bit more serious. "We all know you've been having some trouble lately. How are you getting along, now?"

"Better, actually," Blaine replies, rubbing his neck. "This movie has helped me to focus on something meaningful, and thanks to my costars, my friends, and just the people around me – I've been doing a lot better."

"Great to hear, great to hear," Carlie says, not even looking at him. "How much longer do you guys have to film?"

"Only a few weeks, I think," Santana replies. "It's been a fast process."

"And how do you feel your experience has been working on this film?"

"Well, it's like I said," Santana goes on. "It's been incredible. All the people have been absolutely charming. This – this really was the role of my dreams."

"Blaine?"

He pauses, taking a moment to think. "I – I've actually learned a lot with this role. Both technically and personally. I'm just really grateful that I had this opportunity, and I'm really going to be sad when it's over."

"And the two of you," Carlie continues. "Obviously you've had all this time together – how is your relationship?"

"We're good friends," Santana says instantly. "We get along great, and seriously – just ask anyone. They'll tell you how crazy we are onset. It's been a blast working with Blaine."

"Is there anything more going on?" Carlie presses. "Are you two just friends? It's okay, you can tell me."

"We are, actually," Blaine replies. "She's just not my type, I guess," he says with a smirk, and then – "No, no – I love Santana. But we're just friends, and I'm totally fine with that."

"Well, I wouldn't count that option out, Mr. Anderson," Carlie says slightly, and Blaine nods, thinking, I probably should considering I'm in love with another guy.

"Well, I think that's all we have time for," Carlie says with a sigh. "Once again – thank you both so much."

She stands up and opens the door for them. Blaine walks swiftly, eager to leave her presence, and probably, go find Kurt again.

.

.

"See?" Kurt says, re-gripping the strap of his bag. "It wasn't that bad, was it?"

Blaine grins. "Nah," he says. "Shorter than I expected."

It's silent for a moment, and then Kurt thinks out loud.

"I don't get it," he says.

"What?" Blaine asks, glancing at him.

"You're a celebrity," he says. "You have been since you were a kid. Shouldn't you be used to interviews and paparazzi and all that by now?"

"I am," Blaine says simply. "But now I just see it differently. I see it as a way for people to dig up dirt on me, to twist my words and use me for their sick entertainment and gossip. I'm used to giving interviews and answering questions, but I despise doing it." He pauses. "I'm not the most careful person – if you haven't noticed."

Kurt chuckles slightly, nodding his head. "I get it," he says. "It – it must really be difficult."

Blaine nods too. "It is," he agrees.

"I can see why you took comfort in alcohol."

Blaine stops, tripping over his feet a little.

"What?" Kurt asks, turning to face him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Blaine says. "It's just – you're the first to do that."

"Do what?" Kurt asks, creasing his eyebrows together.

"Try to understand," Blaine says. "And not judge me. You put yourself in my shoes."

"Yeah," Kurt says. "I tend to do that before I judge people."

Blaine laughs, almost humorless, shaking his head. "Well, that normally doesn't happen to me. I – I'm just so used to people looking down on me, trying to tell me how I need to live my life just because people watch my every action, but not once has someone ever tried to look at the way I see things or taken into account what I feel. And that – that means a lot, Kurt."

Kurt offers a shy smile. "First impressions, huh?" he says. "You know, Blaine Anderson, there's still a ton you don't know about me."

Blaine bites his lip.

_I want to know them all._

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So. This weekend I finished writing this story. All fifteen chapters and the epilogue are now finished and are now waiting to be looked at by my lovely betas, Stephanie and Jasmine, who deserve so many thanks. As do all of you who are still with me on this story. I appreciate you all more than you can even imagine.


	9. Chapter 9

**nine.**

* * *

><p>Kurt stops moving his pencil, lifting his cheek from his hand and looks at the design he's just drawn.<p>

Except, it's not exactly a design.

It's Blaine – dressed in one of the suits he'd worn during the photoshoot, his lips lifted into that smile Kurt could stare at for days. With a sigh, Kurt slams his pencil down and crosses his arms, turning around in his chair and away from his desk.

He doesn't know exactly how it happened, but these past few days, all he's been able to think about is Blaine. When he saw Blaine so vulnerable, so upset and emotionally beaten, something inside him changed. The walls Blaine's put up are starting to crumble, and Kurt just wants them gone. He wants to keep peeling back Blaine's layers until he reaches the true man underneath.

He just wants to get to know Blaine.

He wants to know how Blaine started acting and how he got to L.A. He wants to know what made Blaine change his mind about this place and what exactly made him hate it. He wants to know what drove Blaine to start drinking and also what pushed him into getting better.

Kurt pushes himself out of his chair, retreating over to his bed where he throws himself on it with a heavy sigh. He rests his hands on his abdomen as his gaze trails over the ceiling, and he's soon staring off into space, his mind recounting images of Blaine.

With a groan, Kurt rolls over.

It's safe to say that friendship with Blaine is no longer going to be enough for him.

But at the same time, Kurt's afraid.

Because he and Blaine are very different. He's sure they have different values, different morals, different ways of doing things and treating people and relationships. Trust and affection and loyalty have all been things Kurt's cherished. He doesn't meet many people that like him for who is and want to spend a lot of time with him. That's why he'd jumped at the chance to befriend Jeff.

Blaine's a lot different. Sure, Blaine obviously doesn't have many people who really care about him, but that treatment has left Blaine careless. He chooses to use people right back; Kurt's seen in many tabloids, multiple articles, and plenty of rumors.

Kurt knows how Blaine treats those he dates. Kurt knows that Blaine is one of those guys that goes in looking for a fuck, and he's either satisfied and then ends it, or he starts feeling emotion, and scared shitless, ends relationships right there. Kurt's experienced the same kind of thing with other guys before. He's been burned, been heartbroken, and he just doesn't know if he's willing to risk his friendship with Blaine if it's only going to end up the same way.

Blaine is too important.

.

.

Waking up without a hangover is kind of something new to Blaine, but it's definitely something he likes. It's been so long since he's gotten a real good night of sleep, and he wakes up feeling refreshed. He yawns as he sits up, stretching, and then pushes himself out of bed, walking towards the bedroom door. His parents are out doing business today, and he's excited to enjoy the freedom of the house.

However, when he steps into the kitchen, his plans are obviously canceled.

His mother is waiting at the kitchen table, food set out in front of her.

She looks up as he enters the room, smiling. "Good morning, Blaine," she says cheerfully.

He stands there for a moment, more than a little confused. "I thought you and Dad were going out to do promotions and shit," he says.

"Language," Clara says, shaking her head, but Blaine just rolls his eyes. "But anyway – I figured he could handle it by himself."

Blaine nods, crossing his arms over his chest. "Any specific reason you wanted him to go by himself?"

"Well," Clara says, folding her hands together. "I didn't want you to have to wake up alone today, I guess."

"Why?" Blaine asks. "I do it all the time."

"But you're back at home now," Clara presses. "It should feel like home."

Blaine nearly laughs. "It hasn't felt like home in years."

There's a long pause, and Blaine simply stands there, waiting.

Clara bites her lip, nodding her head gently. "And I'm sorry about that Blaine," she says quietly. She continues on, obviously struggling for the right words. "I know your father and I have been absent, and I – that's why I was so glad for you to be coming back home. I wanted this chance to spend more time with you."

Blaine presses his lips together; he can't exactly say the same.

"I just really hope we can make this work," Clara continues.

Blaine opens his mouth as if he's going to say that it's not. There's too much damage done, and nothing's ever going to fix that. But he can't bring himself to say it, because obviously his mother's got herself convinced otherwise and Blaine doesn't want to interfere with that, so he closes his mouth, nodding briefly.

"Take a seat," Clara says, smiling, and she pulls out the chair to her left. "I've made you breakfast."

Blaine sighs as he walks forward, slipping into the seat. He looks down at the food, and a small grin teases his lips.

This is a start.

His mother is putting in effort, she's trying to make things right, and honestly, that's all Blaine's ever needed. Is just one of them to act the least bit parental, actually expressing their love to him. And though it doesn't feel normal, like the perfect American family, Blaine's okay with it. There's still tension, there's still trust and honesty issues, still way too much destroyed that can't be fixed, but it's a start.

And Blaine's willing to jump straight into it.

"Thanks."

.

.

Kurt unlocks the door to Blaine's dressing room, stepping inside, and he stops, just looking around, breathing everything in. It smells like it always does – like coffee, a mixture of colognes, and just the faintest stench of alcohol and sweat. It smells like Blaine. Kurt actually takes a second to look around, rather than hurrying to his own office. The wall-length vanity is littered with hair products and gels, magazines, and near the far end next to Blaine's chair, there's a couple of notebooks and stray pens, a box of tissues, and empty coffee cups.

Kurt bites his lip, trying to stop the smile that's breaking across his lips. His mind is going haywire, thinking about Blaine and what his house must look like, if it too is messy like this. If his room is littered with coffee cups and beer bottles, sheets of lyrics thrown haphazardly on tables or the floor.

Kurt finds himself moving forward, wondering if those notebooks really are filled with lyrics. He's seen Blaine strumming, pausing only to scribble something down in them, so he's sure he's right, but he just wants to see, wants to read them.

He checks over his shoulder before reaching down, carefully picking up the tattered blue notebook. He flips through pages, skimming over the words jotted down and sometimes crossed off. They start off somewhat cheesy, but as Kurt goes on, they actually start becoming deep, thoughtful, and really – _beautiful._

Kurt stops at the most recent one, were the graying pages break off into the clean white ones. There's a song entitled, "Light" and he begins reading.

_Lost and broken  
>I was so confused<br>Stumbling through the haze  
>Searching for you<em>

_Waiting and wishing  
>Trying to stay strong<br>But I'm so much weaker than I look  
>And I do everything wrong<em>

Kurt frowns, pressing his lips together. He really shouldn't be doing this – these are Blaine's thoughts and innermost feelings written onto a piece of paper – but he can't help himself. There's so many of Blaine's walls left to break down, and Kurt doesn't know if he can wait that long. And besides, these lyrics – they're just so entrancing.

_I found you  
>You found me<br>You're the light and the guidance I need_

_When it's dark  
>And it's cold<br>You're what saves me from me_

Kurt pauses, setting the paper down. He feels his eyebrows come together, his throat becoming tight. His heart is racing in his chest, and he feels a little superficial thinking so, but he thinks he knows what this song is about. He closes the notebook and sets it down, biting his lip. His fingers linger a little, tracing over the cover, and he takes a deep breath, trying not to let his mind wander.

The door to Blaine's dressing room clicks, and Kurt jumps, quickly stepping away from the notebook and trying his best to look normal.

Blaine steps into the room, coffee in hand as usual, and he looks_ so_ happy that Kurt's heart swells a little.

"Kurt," he says when he looks up. "How are you?" he asks, shutting the door.

"Fine," Kurt replies. "I was just going to go work on some designs, actually."

Blaine smiles, nodding. "I'll just leave you to it then. I'm just waiting around here for Jeff. We're going out to lunch and then I have to head over to the studios for filming."

"Sounds like fun," Kurt replies lamely, and he's trying not to let his gaze linger on Blaine for too long, pushing the lyrics from his mind.

Blaine says nothing, and the awkward tension between them is so obvious.

"I – I'll just be in here," Kurt says, and he hurries into office where he collapses at his desk, letting out a rough breath.

His mind is whirring, heart still pounding, and he puts his face in his hand, trying to stay calm. But as soon as he hears the sounds of Blaine's guitar, he breaks, and he finds himself grinning widely, shaking his head and fighting the urge to scream in excitement.

.

.

Blaine bites down, chewing on the end of his pen. Ideas and lyrics are buzzing through his mind, and his eyes widen as he thinks of something, quickly jotting it down.

Songwriting is such an odd process. Sometimes lyrics will just float through his mind, a huge, jumbled mess, and other times, it will be the melody, the chords of the guitar coming first, words following. However, lately he's had a huge rush of inspiration – all coming from the same place.

Kurt.

It's so easy. All of the feelings Blaine's having, the complications, the pros and the cons, the way Kurt's just completely come into his life and turned everything around, changing it for the better. The songs just keep coming, and Blaine has a hard time keeping up with them all, switching from the chorus of one to the verse of another to the bridge of the last.

Blaine shakes his head, scribbling all over the page, crossing everything out.

He can't seem to find the right words to express his newest feelings, the strongest ones, the ones he's afraid to admit. He lets out a sigh, leaning back in his chair.

And suddenly from next to him, his phone rings. He picks it up, looking at the caller ID, and with a huge smile on his face, answers it as he bolts from the room and out into the hallway.

.

.

"Thank you," Blaine says, smiling from ear to ear. "Yeah – thank you so much. I'll – I'll be sure to talk to him. I'll be seeing him today, so – what? Yeah, alright. I – yes. Thank you. Yes, I'll talk to you again soon. Thank you so much. Goodbye."

He hangs up his phone, stuffing it in his pocket, and with a satisfied grin, reenters his dressing room.

This is it.

This is his chance to make a clean slate and to show Kurt that there's more to him than the screw-ups and the failures and the anger he can't seem to control. This is his chance to start over and to do things right and only make Kurt happy, loving him with everything he has if Kurt lets him. And he's not going to take anything for granted. He's going to give this his all and be so careful. He can't screw this up.

He just can't, or it might kill him.

He takes a deep breath and makes his way towards Kurt's office.

.

.

"Kurt?"

He turns around at the knock on his office door, eyes lighting up when he sees Blaine standing there.

"Blaine," he says cheerfully, a little breathless. "What's up?"

"Well," Blaine says, stepping carefully forward. "I just got off the phone."

"And?" Kurt asks.

"With the administrator at Ütopia," Blaine says, and his lips are lifting up into an uncontrollable smile. "I showed your designs to Laric the other day. She was impressed, and she helped me get in contact with Ütopia. They want to offer you an internship."

Kurt blinks, forgetting how to breathe. "Blaine," he says slowly. "Blaine, are you serious?"

He nods, stepping forward. "One hundred percent."

Kurt lets out a strangled sort of laugh, grinning widely. "Oh my god," he breathes, and he springs up from his seat. "Blaine, oh my god." And he launches himself into Blaine's arms, hugging him tightly. "Thank you," he says shakily. "I – I don't – thank you so much."

Blaine wraps his arms more tightly around Kurt's waist, reveling in the moment. "Well," he sighs, "you were too shy to do anything, and talent like yours shouldn't be wasted, so I figured I might as well get it done for you."

Kurt pulls backward, and his smile shakes, his eyes appearing wet. "Blaine," is all he says, chuckling lightly and shaking his head.

Blaine sighs, looking down at the floor. "I'm just really sorry," he says.

Kurt cocks his head, looking almost confused for a second.

"We've been getting along, and it's wonderful, but I just can't fathom how you can put everything behind us," Blaine continues, looking up. "I was horrible to you. I could go on and blame it on my being drunk and angry all the time, but it's still not okay. I shouldn't take it out on you. And Kurt, I just want you to know that I never meant any of it. You're amazing, you really are, and I don't even deserve your forgiveness, but I'm sorry."

Kurt shakes his head again, and lets out a noise between a scoff and a laugh.

"Blaine, I do forgive you though," Kurt says. "I've had a lot worse done to me, and I can put everything behind us because I know that you're a good person underneath everything you put out. Most people don't have the guts to admit what they did was wrong, and honestly, I wasn't nice to you either. So, I'm sorry too."

"You don't have to be," Blaine says quietly. "You're perfect."

Kurt laughs. "I'd have to say I disagree, but thank you for forgiving me."

Blaine doesn't reply, but he simply looks into Kurt's eyes as if he can't get enough, and Kurt feels himself blushing. There's so much going through his mind right now, but it all goes back to one thing.

_I _really_ like you._

_I want to be with you._

_I admit it._

He takes a deep breath, and he thinks it's okay for him to let go of Blaine now, except he doesn't want to. "Blaine," he says again, much quieter, and it's almost a question. His eyes dart around Blaine's face before gazing into Blaine's eyes.

"Yeah?" Blaine asks.

"I – I have something to ask you," Kurt says, and his voice is almost a whisper.

"Yeah?"

"I'm – I'm free on Friday night," Kurt starts. "And I – I was just wondering, would you maybe want to go out?"

Blaine's eyebrows shoot up his forehead, his lips turning into a small "o." He swallows hard. "Like – like a date?"

"If you want it to be," Kurt says, and he has to remind himself to breathe. _In and out, in and out, in and out._

"I – yes," Blaine says, smiling. "Yes, absolutely. I – I would love to go on a date with you, Kurt."

"Great," Kurt says, trying not to squeal or jump or anything that's not entirely socially acceptable. "Um, I know you shouldn't be drinking, but there's this great bar on Twenty-Third Street, and we'll be able to find something non-alcoholic, I'm sure. Plus – there's karaoke," he adds.

Blaine nods, nearly laughing. "That sounds perfect."

"Great," Kurt says. "Then I'll pick you up at nine?"

"I'll see you then," Blaine replies.

And with one last hug and a couple of shy smiles, they part, both of them letting out noises of triumph as soon as they think the other is out of earshot.

.

.

There's a skip in Blaine's step, a small sparkle to his eyes, and he feels invincible. Nothing's going to bring him down because after everything, after all of his stupid mistakes and the wrong things he's done, he's getting a chance. He's getting a chance to do things right and though it won't make up for everything he's done, it's an opportunity to show that he's not actually a horrible person. That he has the capacity to be caring and compassionate, and this is all he's wanted.

Even as he rolls into the driveway of his parents' house, he feels on top of the world.

He enters the house, swinging his keys around his finger and humming under his breath. There's a smile stuck on his lips, and his chin is held up high.

But that grin soon falls when he passes the living room.

"Blaine?"

He stops short at the sound of his father's voice, backtracking and trying not to look irritated as he says, "Yeah, Dad?"

"There's something we need to talk about," his father replies, and Blaine swallows hard.

"We're not mad at you," his mother assures, and the tightness in his chest loosens a little. "There's just something we need to ask you."

"What is it?" Blaine asks. "Is it about rehab? Because I haven't been going out, you know. Well, I am on Friday – but the person I'm going with is making sure I don't have any alcohol, so – I mean, I really am – "

"Blaine," his father says sharply. "This has nothing to do with your addiction. It's about the movie – and publicity."

Blaine's relief is short-lived, because he can already guess what they want him to do, and he'd rather not.

But he supposes he doesn't really have a choice

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Oh, gosh you guys. I'm really nervous to post chapter ten. But in a week I'll have to.

Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed this chapter, and once again, I'm just so humbled and thankful for the support this story has been given. I love you guys.


	10. Chapter 10

**ten.**

* * *

><p>Blaine runs his gel-slathered fingers through his hair one last time, making sure it's not too puffy, but not like it's painted to his head either. After washing his hands under the faucet, he takes a step back, cocking his head and looking at his outfit. Pursing his lips, he decides to unbutton the top button of his shirt. This is a date, but it's not like it's nothing formal.<p>

With a sigh, Blaine exits the bathroom, returning to his room to grab his wallet and keys. His stomach is swarming with butterflies, and even though Kurt hasn't picked him up yet, he's freaking out.

He just really doesn't want to screw this up. He wants this to go perfectly because maybe, he'll finally get a meaningful, honest, and worthwhile relationship out of this. Maybe this will lead to more dates in the future, and holding-handing and kissing and snuggling during rainy days.

And this is how Blaine knows Kurt means so much more. He's thinking about all they can do beyond sex and drinking. He's thinking about lazy afternoons spent doing nothing and nights where they just stay inside and watch movies. He's thinking about moving together already for Christ's sake, and - Blaine takes a second to shake his head, telling himself to go through this slowly.

He can't mess this up.

Blaine stuffs his wallet and his keys into his pocket, and with one last deep breath, hurries outside. Kurt is waiting, pulled up to the curb of the front lawn, and an unshakable smile spreads across Blaine's face. He hurries to the passenger side of the car and ducks inside.

"You ready?" Kurt asks.

"More than ready," Blaine replies, and Kurt grins widely as he pulls away from the Anderson manor.

.

.

This place is nice, much more so than Blaine's used to. He's used to crawling through near-darkness, often slopping his drink all over himself. Sweaty bodies pressed together and unfamiliar odors assaulting his nose. This place is far from shady; dignified and high society.

He looks around at the low-hanging lights surrounded by shades of all colors. The bar, the stools, and the tables are all nice, dark wood, and people mill around with an air of dignity. There's a dress code here; people are proper and impressive, and Kurt blends right in with them. Thank god Blaine had used Kurt's clothes for him as an example, otherwise he'd stick out like a sore thumb.

Another thing that's different about this bar is the people especially. And not just the social class. While the people at Blaine's usual places never recognized him (whether it's because they hardly made it out to the rest of the world or because they were too wasted), the people here lower their voices as he walks by, turning their head slowly and staring after him.

But today, he doesn't care.

This is him not paying anyone any mind. This is him doing what he wants for once. This is him showing people that he's capable of being someone other than the person stumbling drunk through the tabloids. This is him shedding his layers and taking a step towards being the person he wants to be.

He's ditching the Friday nights of drinking until he's sick and going out on a date simply to have a good time. To get to know someone and strengthen a relationship. It's good for him.

Kurt turns back as he reaches the bar, making sure Blaine is still right behind him.

"No alcohol, right?" he asks, and Blaine nods.

"No alcohol."

Kurt slides onto one of the stools and orders himself a cocktail and Blaine a Shirley Temple. Blaine follows suit, sitting right next to him, and keeps his eyes away from the crowd of people he knows are staring at him.

"So," Kurt says, leaning on his elbow and facing Blaine. "Did you manage to come here without a lecture?"

Blaine smiles. "Actually, yes. I didn't exactly tell my parents I was going out to a bar. They think I'm at Jeff's."

Kurt laughs. "You sound like such a teenager right now."

"Well, if I'm going to be treated like one . . ." Blaine replies.

Kurt nods, understanding.

Blaine shifts his weight. "Enough about my parents," he says. "You haven't told me about yours. Or much about yourself, actually. You said there's still a ton I don't know about you, so go on."

"Well," Kurt starts – pausing to take his drink with a word of thanks from the bartender. "My dad's back in Ohio, running an auto shop. And my mom's dead."

Blaine nearly chokes on his Shirley Temple. "Oh my god," he says. "Kurt, I didn't – I'm sorry."

Kurt laughs, shaking his head. "It was thirteen years ago. I'm fine, Blaine."

"Well, what a great way to start a date," Blaine mutters, his eyebrows raised.

Kurt snorts, leaning back with ease. "Off the subject of parents – how's filming?"

Blaine shrugs. "It's fine."

"You know," Kurt says, "you really don't seem excited about this movie. And yet – I thought you really loved the story, the characters . . . "

Blaine nods, letting out a small sigh. "Yeah," he says, pursing his lips. "I really don't know what it is," he says, looking at Kurt. "I mean, I love being there, I love acting, I love the cast and the crew, but something just doesn't feel right, you know?"

"What do you mean?" Kurt asks, his eyebrows creasing together.

"I don't really know," Blaine admits. "But it's been there since the beginning – since the audition. I just have this incomplete, sort of empty feeling. I just – I don't get that same fulfilling feeling I used to get when I was acting."

"I'm sorry," is all Kurt can think to say. "Do – do you think it's just this movie?"

"Maybe," Blaine says. "But – there is something I've always wanted to try. Other than acting that is."

"Singing?" Kurt guesses with a smirk, and Blaine blinks, taken aback.

"How'd you know?" he asks.

"Please," Kurt says. "You play your guitar every day, humming under your breath the whole time, and you may not realize it, but you sing sometimes too - quietly. And don't think I haven't caught you scribbling in those notebooks. You write songs, don't you?"

Blaine nods slowly, and then shakes his head in amazement. "You're – you're just _so_ perceptive."

"Yeah," Kurt agrees, nodding. "It's a quality that tends to get me in trouble."

Blaine says nothing, but sits, pondering what that could possibly mean.

Kurt takes a sip of his cocktail, and pulling it back away from his lips, he smirks at Blaine's thoughtful and confused expression.

"Hey," he says, setting his drink down on the bar counter. "Do you want to go dance?"

Blaine presses his lips together. "I – I don't know. I shou – "

"Oh, come on," Kurt urges.

"As long as we don't stand too close," Blaine says. "I mean, I know we're supposed to be on a date," he says in a low voice, "but there's going to be enough rumors as it is, and I – "

"I understand," Kurt assures, and he hops down from his stool, waiting for Blaine.

With a sigh, Blaine follows, and the two of them head out to the dance floor, lost quickly in the sea of people.

.

.

They're sweaty now, hot and just a little breathless. Kurt's working on another cocktail, and he's just the slightest bit tipsy. It's a little odd for Blaine to be the sober one, but Kurt's adorable, and he's having fun – so no complaints here.

"Oh, God," Kurt mutters. "I probably don't even want to know what my hair looks like."

"It looks fine," Blaine assures. "Perfect."

Kurt collapses back onto a stool, pulling his drink close to him.

The pulse of a bass and beat of the drums stop, and everyone looks towards the stage as the music fades, where people are setting up microphones and stools, piling up a couple of battered guitars and a keyboard on the wings.

"Excuse me, everyone," a man says into the microphone, "if we could have your attention please."

The room is mostly quiet, attention focused on the stage.

"It's about time to start karaoke, and as soon as these guys are done setting up – " he gestures to the men behind him, " – we'd love for you to come on up and give it a shot. We've got every track you can think of on our speaker system, or if you want – you could play the song on the instruments we have up here. So, as soon as we're ready, feel free to come up."

Kurt turns towards Blaine, grabbing his shoulder. "Blaine," he says seriously. "Blaine, we have to go up."

"You sing?" Blaine asks with a smirk.

Kurt nods, rolling his eyes. "Don't pretend like you don't hear me in my office every so often."

Blaine laughs. "Hey, good thing you sound great."

Kurt fights a blush, biting his lip.

"So?" he asks. "We're going up there, right?"

Blaine opens his mouth as if to say something and then stops, looking apprehensive. "I don't know if I should."

Kurt doesn't say anything, but waits, knowing that Blaine will convince himself.

"But I want to," he says quietly. "I just don't know . . . the media, my parents – " he breaks off, chewing on his cheek. "You know what," he says. "Fuck it. Let's go."

However, there's already a line of people waiting by the time Kurt and Blaine reach the stage, so they settle themselves behind two young ladies and watch as people perform a range of hits from the 80's and 90's.

"What are we singing?" Blaine asks in Kurt's ear as they watch the two girls set up.

Kurt thinks for just a moment. "Do you like the Beatles, Blaine?"

.

.

Blaine sits on a stool, guitar resting on his lap. He finds himself smiling up at Kurt, who's setting up his microphone.

"Hey, everyone," Kurt says brightly. "My name's Kurt, and this is Blaine – " he points a hand to his right, and well, if people didn't recognize him before, they sure do now. "And we'll be singing 'Blackbird' by the Beatles."

He leans away from the mic as Blaine begins to strum.

_Dum. Dum. Dum. Dum._

He lets Blaine play a few more seconds before jumping in.

"_Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly. All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise."_

Kurt taps his foot, swaying a little to Blaine's chords. As he sings again, Blaine joins, harmonizing.

"_Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these sunken eyes and learn to see. All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to be free."_

Kurt moves into the chorus, losing himself even more into the music.

"_Blackbird, fly, fly. Blackbird, fly, fly, into the light of the dark, black night."_

Blaine watches Kurt, and as he beats his hand against his thigh, humming into the mic, Blaine freezes, stumbling over the chords. He quickly recovers, swallowing hard, but Kurt doesn't seem to have noticed.

Kurt sings again, and Blaine lets him go solo.

"_Blackbird, fly, fly. Blackbird, fly, fly, into the light of the dark, black night."_

And there's something swelling inside Blaine's chest. He can't explain it, but now he's looking at Kurt, and suddenly the world seems brighter, he sees things more clearly, hears things a little better. Blaine sits up straighter, watching Kurt in awe.

It's like a switch has been flipped on.

Yes, Kurt has always been attractive, but now Blaine's looking at him, and he's positively _angelic_. His hair swished backward, light and soft as it curves away from his forehead. His blue-green eyes sparkle in the stage light, and his rosy cheeks match his tender lips.

_He's beautiful_, Blaine thinks, and his mouth goes dry.

Kurt looks back now, closing his mouth, and as the next verse comes up, he motions for Blaine to sing the solo. Blaine nods ever so slightly and nervously moves closer to his mic.

"_Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly. All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise. You were only waiting for this moment to arise – "_ and Kurt joins him again. _"You were only waiting for this moment to arise."_

On the last strum, Kurt watches the way Blaine's face is lit up, his smile spread from ear to ear. He doesn't think he's ever seen Blaine so alive, so happy, and it – wow. It makes Kurt's heart race. Without the security of alcohol, Blaine's been free to be himself. He's been free to do what he wants, and Kurt really likes seeing this side to him.

Blaine reaches for Kurt's hand as they bow, and a little thrill goes through Kurt.

Blaine laughs a little as the rest of the bar claps for them, hollering and whistling, and Kurt's knees feel weak. He knew he liked Blaine before, but this is something different entirely. He feels breathless, weightless, and his head is spinning.

"You're incredible," Kurt breathes as they walk to the stairs leading offstage.

Blaine puts the guitar back, and stands up slowly, smiling so honestly and so proudly that Kurt feels a whimper move up his throat. He swallows hard and smiles back.

"Seriously?" Blaine asks. "I mean, personally, I thought that was pretty mediocre," he says with a shrug.

Kurt shakes his head, still breathless. "No – you really are amazing."

Blaine notices his change in behavior now – how careful Kurt is being, how soft his voice is, and how his eyes are practically smoldering.

"Kurt – "

"Let's go," Kurt says. "Let's get out of here."

"Where are we – "

"Wherever you want," Kurt replies.

.

.

Blaine pulls into the driveway and, thankfully, the lights along the cement are still lit up.

"Where are we?" Kurt asks quietly.

"My house," Blaine replies. "We'll have much more privacy here than my parents."

Kurt doesn't reply; he can't seem to find his voice.

Blaine parks the car haphazardly near the front steps leading up to the door. He pulls the keys from the ignition, but doesn't get out. Instead he just takes a deep breath, letting out an almost hysterical laugh.

"What?" Kurt asks.

Blaine shakes his head. "Nothing," he says. "No – well, everything."

Kurt's eyebrows crease together, but Blaine doesn't elaborate.

"Come on," he says suddenly. "Let's go inside."

Kurt nods, and opens his door, standing up and stretching for a second. Blaine offers his hand, and Kurt takes it, entwining their fingers as they walk towards the front door of the house.

Inside, Blaine flicks on the front lights and, once they reach it, the living room lights. He sets Kurt's keys on the coffee table and collapses onto the couch. Kurt settles down next to him.

The sit in silence for what feels like an eternity, but there's not a problem with it. They're content and happy, completely at ease, as if they've done this a thousand times. As if they've lived together for years and silent nights like this are just a part of their routine.

Kurt leans his head back against the couch, sighing. "I had a really great time tonight," he says softly, eyes sparkling against the dim light as he blinks.

Blaine smiles, nodding. "I did too," he replies. "I don't think I've ever had that much fun. It felt good to do that – to be so carefree."

"Happiness looks good on you," Kurt says, grinning.

And god, Blaine just cannot take it. Kurt's smile, his eyes, the way he's leaning his head back, exposing his neck, his flushed cheeks and rosy lips. Blaine leans forward carefully, eyes flickering all around Kurt's face, his eyes asking Kurt, _"Is this okay?"_ before at last Kurt moves upward, pressing their lips together.

Immediately, Blaine's heart swells in his chest, a blush creeping up his neck and pooling in his cheeks. He shifts his weight, carefully bringing up his hand to cup Kurt's jaw. Kurt retaliates, his fingers sliding into Blaine's hair, and his whole body straightening up.

They move slow, breathing each other in and kissing earnestly.

Kurt's lips are warm and soft, and they feel_ amazing_ against Blaine's, pushing and parting, and now Kurt's breath is hot and hard against Blaine's mouth as he gasps for air. Kurt comes right back in, careful and gentle, and god, Blaine's feeling so many things at once.

Mostly, he just can't believe this is happening. All his worries over this relationship are quickly melting away, losing their coldness in the heat that is Kurt's body pressed close to his. His heart is filled with this certain pressure, and it takes away that empty feeling that's always been there. Kurt's filling the emptiness inside him, and it's wonderful. It's wonderful, it's incredible, it's _perfect._

And he feels stupid for ever trying to deny it.

He wants Kurt. That's all he wants. He wants to hold him, to kiss him, to love him. He wants Kurt to be his everything and_ he_ wants to be _Kurt's_ everything. He just wants this to be his life – now and forever.

And as they keep kissing, Blaine just wants more of Kurt right now.

Blaine feels Kurt's lips part, and now his tongue is flicking against Blaine's lips, urging him to open them. Blaine obliges, and feels Kurt's warm breath against his mouth. He moves his tongue forward, finding Kurt's, and he can almost feel the electricity buzzing through both of them.

But it's not enough; he wants more.

He straightens up, moving himself closer to Kurt, and keeping his lips locked on Kurt's, moves his hands from Kurt's jaw to his hips. Kurt doesn't protest at all, but allows Blaine to straddle him. A little thrill goes through Blaine when he feels the erection pressing against Kurt's jeans. He grinds their hips together, pressing his cock hard against Kurt, creating a satisfactory friction. Kurt gasps against Blaine's mouth, a small whine escaping his lips.

Blaine smiles, moving faster, letting out a groan, and here's where the animalistic side of him surfaces. Kurt weakens underneath him, his breath uneven.

"_God,_" Kurt blurts out, his voice low and raspy.

And it only fuels Blaine's confidence and desires. He presses his lips back to Kurt's, silencing him as he begins to grind slower, stringing out the friction, and he knows he's driving Kurt crazy.

"No – " Kurt says quickly, voice shaky. "Don't – _fuck _- don't stop."

"Oh, I don't plan on it," Blaine murmurs, and he thrusts his hips a little harder.

Kurt groans heavily in return, his fingers scraping between Blaine's shoulder blades as his grips tightly to the fabric of Blaine's shirt.

"How about I try something a little different?" Blaine asks, and his fingers move fast, undoing Kurt's belt and pulling down his zipper.

"Yes," Kurt says. "Oh – god. Please, _yes_."

Blaine toys with the waistband of Kurt's underwear before finally giving in.

Kurt's breath is already uneven when he feels Blaine's fingers slip into his underwear. Light and gentle, his fingers move carefully until they're wrapped around Kurt's cock. Kurt's breath hitches, and he feels his hips thrust forward slightly.

"You like that, do you?" Blaine mutters, and he tugs gently.

Kurt moans, loud, almost frustrated, and he pulls himself closer to Blaine, reattaching their lips. Blaine kisses right back, going straight for tongue. He keeps his hand where it is, but loosens his grip, and just when Kurt thinks he's safe, Blaine strokes his length and Kurt breaks apart their lips, breathing hard.

But apparently, Blaine's lips need to be occupied, because he starts trailing kisses along Kurt's jaw line. He moves quickly down to Kurt's neck, where he sucks softly, a small moan escaping his lips. Kurt's skin is so soft, so smooth, so warm, and it feels fantastic against his mouth. He strokes Kurt again, and Kurt arches his back.

"_Fuck_," he hisses. "I'm – I'm going to come."

"Not yet, you aren't," Blaine replies.

He pulls his hand from Kurt's underwear, and leans forward, pressing Kurt backward onto the couch until he's hovering over him, his hands placed on either side of Kurt. He pulls away from Kurt's neck for a just a moment, his voice low, almost a whisper, as he says, "I want to suck you so bad right now. I want you to come down my throat."

Kurt says nothing, but he looks straight into Blaine's eyes. And it's obvious from the flush of his cheeks, the tousle of his hair, and the glint in his blue eyes, that Kurt's not protesting. Blaine resumes kissing Kurt's neck however, trailing kisses down it and then, unbuttoning Kurt's shirt as he goes, moves to his collarbone.

"No," Kurt says. "Now. _Please_ – just suck me now."

Blaine grins against Kurt's abdomen, only moving his lips slower, more gentle. He moves his hands back down to Kurt's underwear, pulling them down slowly.

"Please," Kurt tries again, he can feel a warmth coiling in his gut and he's not going to last much longer. "Blaine, _please_."

And then it's like a light clicks on.

There's a sudden ringing in Kurt's ears, and it's like he's woken up from a dream. A dream he hadn't realized was a nightmare.

Blaine.

Oh, god.

No – no he can't do this. He let himself go on that date. And it was amazing and it was perfect, but - but he only went because he thought they were going to take things slowly, ease into this relationship and make it last. But now he's desperately pleading Blaine for a blowjob and he can't do this anymore.

This is ending up exactly the way Kurt didn't want it to.

They go on one date, they fuck, and by next week Blaine's going to kick him to the curb. It'll be just like any other Hollywood relationship. Except Kurt's not going to let that happen.

It's obvious Blaine felt Kurt freeze underneath him and he stops, looking anxiously towards his face.

"What's wrong?" Blaine asks. "Did I hurt you? I didn't mean to. I – "

"No," Kurt says quickly. "I'm okay – I just – "

"Then what's the matter?"

Kurt shakes his head, scooting out from underneath Blaine. Blaine sits up straighter, giving him space and Kurt sits up, his belt clacking as he moves. He runs a hand through his damp hair, heaving a sigh.

"Kurt?" Blaine presses, and his hand reaches out.

"I'm sorry," Kurt says quickly, and he stands up, zipping his pants and fixing his belt.

"About what?" Blaine says, and he stands up too. "Kurt, what's – what's going on?"

"Blaine, I'm sorry," he repeats. "But I can't – I can't do this."

He shakes his head again, his mouth parted as if he wants to say something more, but he doesn't. He turns and walks quickly from the room, only dashing back to grab his keys before rushing out Blaine's front door and out to his car.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I'm extremely nervous to post this because it's the first time I've ever written smut and so I'll just say my endless thank yous and leave quickly.


	11. Chapter 11

**eleven.**

* * *

><p>Blaine doesn't want to move.<p>

He doesn't want to get up from this bed, haul himself into his car, drive to the press conference, and act all day, both on-camera and off. He just doesn't have the energy. He doesn't have it in him to pretend that he's okay – which he needs to do or questions will be fired at him all day. The press will make connections and start rumors, and Blaine just doesn't need more stress on top of everything else.

Blaine rolls over, curling into himself.

He's dizzy and nauseous, and he hasn't slept at all. Empty beer bottles litter the floor, and his blankets have fallen off the edge of the bed. He's still dressed in the shirt and jeans he wore on his and Kurt's date, and his hair is completely messy, some curls sticking to his forehead, and the back sticking up at odd angles.

Blaine is so exhausted; he doesn't think he's ever felt so tired, but his hazy mind is buzzing lazily with thoughts, keeping him up. As is the churning of his stomach and the pounding in his head. Blaine squeezes his eyes shut tightly for a second, longing for peace. None comes.

With a sigh, Blaine looks towards the clock.

It's already ten o'clock in the morning, and the stupid press conference starts at noon. Yeah, he's got about an hour and fifty-five minutes.

He closes his eyes again only to be shaken slightly when there's a loud pounding on his door.

"Blaine," his father says, sharp, loud. "Blaine, get your ass out here, now."

Blaine winces at his father's voice, and with a groan of frustration, pushes himself up with shaky arms. It takes a moment to get steady on his feet, and once he is, he takes his time moving over to the door. He walks down the hall, squinting at the light and he really hopes that his aching stomach will wait a while to betray him.

"Blaine?"

"I'm right here," he says quickly, and he enters the living room, collapsing into a chair.

"Blaine," his father starts, fingers gripping the bridge of his nose. "What is this?"

A piece of paper slams down on the table, and Blaine looks at it lazily. It's an online article, and above the black and white paragraph is a picture of him and Kurt singing onstage. And down the side of the page, there's more pictures of them dancing, talking, drinking.

Blaine bites his lip, trying to think of what to say.

But the pain in his heart suddenly triples, and he can't look away. He'd been so foolish. On the date, everything seemed wonderful, so perfect. And finally, _finally_ after all of this time, he was pursuing a real relationship.

He just didn't know that soon after, he'd get his first real heartbreak.

"It's nothing," Blaine says quietly, because he wishes it was.

"You told us you were at Jeff's," his mother says, and Blaine hears the disappointment, rather than anger in her voice.

"I know," Blaine says. "I – I knew you wouldn't let me go out, but I just wanted this opportunity to hang out with Kurt."

"Kurt's your stylist," his father says, eyebrows creasing together. He's evidently confused.

"I know," Blaine says again. "We can be friends too, Dad."

His father takes a deep breath. "It doesn't matter what your reason was, Blaine," he says sternly. "What matters is that you lied to us and disobeyed us."

"Yeah, and what does that matter?" Blaine asks. "I'm an adult, perfectly capable of making my own decisions. And for the record, I didn't have anything to drink last night."

"Then why does your breath smell like alcohol?" his father counters.

Blaine bites his lip. "Because last night wasn't exactly fun, and I – I needed to take my mind off things."

"And so you resort to alcohol . . . " his father says with a scoff, shaking his head. "Now, come on, Blaine," he continues. "Take a good look at that article. It was posted this morning on US Weekly's website. "

Blaine sighs heavily, reaching forward and picking up the paper. He ignores the pictures and with a lump rising in his throat starts reading the paragraph.

"_Has Blaine Anderson got himself a boyfriend? Who knew that this incredible and talented movie star might be gay? Pictured with none other than his personal stylist, Kurt Hummel, the two were spotted last night at Harvey Swiss's on what appeared to many as a date. They even got up at one point to treat the crowd to an acoustic rendition of the Beatles' "Blackbird" during karaoke. But besides a few flirty smiles, some longing looks, and an awkward space between them while dancing, there was nothing to suggest these two are a couple. However, we'll keep our eyes open for more."_

Blaine swallows hard, blinking at the burn in his eyes.

He doesn't even care about the rumors now. He doesn't care that everyone in the world is assuming he's gay before he gets the chance to come out. He doesn't care that this could damage his career and his reputation maybe even more than his alcohol addiction has.

All he cares about is Kurt.

He just wants to go back, wants to stop himself from making a mistake all over again. He wants to figure out what exactly he's done and apologize to Kurt for it. He just – he really doesn't want to lose Kurt. He doesn't know if he's going to be able to handle it.

"It's nothing," Blaine repeats. "Jeff was busy, and we just wanted to have some fun. I honestly didn't drink until after I got home. Kurt made sure I didn't."

"Well," his mother says. "I guess it was a good idea for us to hire Kurt. I'll make sure we thank him."

"You're just lucky you and Santana are setting things straight today at the press conference," his father says, and with that, he stands up and storms from the room.

Blaine really doesn't know how to respond.

Because if they hadn't hired Kurt, none of this mess would have happened. And he wouldn't be so upset and heartbroken. He wouldn't be beating himself up over ruining everything for a second time.

But if they hadn't hired him, Blaine would've never met Kurt. He wouldn't have fallen in love with him, and he wouldn't have made the progress he has. Kurt has helped him out so much, despite the bumps in their relationship. Because of Kurt, Blaine is beginning to accept the person he really is, and even though he'd gone to alcohol to numb the pain from last night, he's still had less urges to drink, and he found that it is in fact possible for him to have fun while being sober.

And after all that's happened, even when he feels like he's shattered into a million pieces, Blaine doesn't regret falling in love with Kurt.

.

.

Kurt is stupid.

He is so mindlessly, ridiculously stupid.

Right now, he's pacing around his room, nothing short of distraught and fuck, he's supposed to be at the press conference in an hour. He's got to make sure Blaine looks absolutely perfect, but he just doesn't think he can face Blaine right now.

Why?

Why did he have to go and ruin everything?

So he wanted Blaine to give him a blowjob – what the hell is even wrong with that? If he's going to date Blaine, he's got to expect sex to come up eventually. Especially living the way they do, it shouldn't come as a fucking surprise.

God, why is he stupid?

He knows.

He knows Blaine isn't some horrible, asshole of guy underneath everything. And since they've reached that point – that point where Kurt's knocked down Blaine's walls and gotten to the honest, caring man underneath, he should know that Blaine really does care about him. He should know that Blaine isn't some jerk who's just playing with Kurt's heart.

Blaine apologized. He got all emotional and he apologized, and he got Kurt an internship at Ütopia for Christ's sake. Surely Kurt can believe Blaine cares about him.

And now he just feels so awful for thinking otherwise. Blaine must be so hurt, maybe even angry at Kurt right now, and Kurt knows he deserves it. He'd slipped backwards – way back to the beginning of their relationship and judged Blaine like everyone else. His mind had gone back to the tabloids and the press, and all of their dramatics and lies, and why did Kurt choose to worry about that rather than just give Blaine a chance?

Kurt sighs, stopping and running a hand through his hair.

He needs more time.

He needs to work up the courage to apologize. And that's not going to happen in less than an hour.

Kurt reaches for his phone, knowing that he's taking the cowardly way out, but if he's going to get Blaine back, he needs time and space to figure things out.

Quinn answers on the first ring.

"Kurt, where are you?"

"I'm sorry," Kurt says immediately. "But I'm – I'm going to be late. My . . . my car. It's having issues, and I called over someone to take a look." He bites his lip, hoping Quinn believes his lie.

"Well, are you going to be able to get here today?" she asks nervously.

"Yeah," Kurt assures. "Don't worry – I'll figure something out. I just probably won't be on time."

"That's fine," Quinn says. "That's okay, Kurt. Just get here when you can."

"Thank you," Kurt says, and he hangs up.

He drops his phone on his bed, and brings his hand up to his lip, chewing on his nails. He'd promised to at least show up. Maybe that's alright. He'll just talk to Quinn, stay by her. Maybe he won't have to talk to Blaine. Maybe Blaine will ignore him.

Or maybe he just won't show up.

.

.

"Damn," Santana mutters. "You look terrible."

Blaine looks blearily up at her, attempting a pitiful scowl. "I feel terrible," he replies.

"What happened?" she asks, a smirk playing at her lips.

Blaine closes his eyes, shaking his head.

"Wait – you – didn't you and Kurt go out last night?" And suddenly her joyful expression falls away, replaced with worry and sympathy. "Blaine, what happened?

He sighs, leaning into his fingertips. "Everything was fine at the bar – it was perfect. We – we danced and we sang, and it – it was the most fun I'd had in a long time."

"And?" Santana asks.

"And then we went back to my house," Blaine says quietly, and Santana's mouth opens, forming a small "oh." "And let's just say I know now that I am definitely one hundred percent gay."

Santana bites her lip. "How far did you go?"

"Not as far as you think," Blaine replies bitterly. "Because in the middle of it, he got up, said, 'I can't do this,' and left. He just left me there. I – I don't even know what I did."

"Maybe the prospect of sex freaked him out?" Santana suggests with a tight shrug.

Blaine shakes his head. "He was practically begging me, Santana. And then suddenly it was just a one-eighty, and he bolted out of there. I just – I wish I knew what I did wrong. All I wanted was to make him happy."

Santana presses her lips together, eyebrows dipping down in secondhand sadness. "I'm sorry, Blaine," she says, voice soft. "I'm sure you guys will work this out. Don't worry so much, alright? I've seen the way Kurt looks at you when he doesn't realize he is, and trust me – he likes you just as much as you like him."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Blaine mumbles. "One night can change everything."

"And so make today count," Santana replies. "Look, he's coming to the press conference, right? So when he gets here, just talk to him. Because if you don't, how are you ever supposed to fix this?"

Blaine takes a deep breath, nodding. "You're right," he says. "I just need to talk to him."

.

.

Kurt sits in his car, fist clenched tightly around his keys.

He can't keep hiding anymore.

He has to face Blaine. He has to make this right. He just – he feels like such an idiot, because he does really care about Blaine, and if he's going to admit it to himself, he wants to pursue a relationship with him so badly. He loves the thought of walking into work and kissing Blaine whenever he feels like. He likes the thought of going out on Fridays – to dinner, to a bar, or even just to each other's places to just watch movies and snuggle. He likes the thought of going to all these press events and smiling to himself, thinking, "that's my boyfriend."

And, God, Kurt wants it.

He wants it so, so much.

But he has to pluck up the courage to go to Blaine and to tell him this. He has to apologize and admit how stupid he was. He has to tell Blaine that he does in fact, care about him very much, and that he knows Blaine cares about him too – that he was just being paranoid and judgmental. And he just has to make this right.

So with a huge breath, Kurt releases his fist, takes the keys, and puts them in the ignition.

And he drives to the press conference, the beginnings of his apology on the tip of his tongue.

.

.

Blaine looks around as he and Santana take their seats.

Kurt hadn't shown up to check his outfit, and Blaine's starting to feel nervous again, almost sick to his stomach.

But as his eyes scan the crowd full of people with recording devices and video cameras, he doesn't see that creamy skin or those beautiful blue-green eyes. He sees Quinn near the back, Jeff by her side, but no Kurt.

With a sigh, he turns back to Santana. She catches his eye and understands without so much as a word. She reaches out and rubs his shoulder.

A camera flashes.

.

.

Kurt parks haphazardly in a parking space, slamming his car to a stop and yanking out the keys. He pushes open his door and bolts to the front of the building.

"Excuse me," he says to the receptionist. "I'm Kurt Hummel – I work for Blaine Anderson. Can you tell me where the press conference is?"

She looks a little taken aback at his harried appearance, but forces out, "Yeah – keep going down the hallway here, and you'll see a huge set of double doors to your left. Everyone should be in there."

Kurt nods, thanking her, and then runs down the hallway until he finds them. Taking a deep breath, he pushes them open slowly. A few heads in the room turn towards his direction, but as Blaine appears to be answering a question, most stay focused on him.

Kurt looks around, spotting Quinn and Jeff on the other side of the room. He chews on his lip, deciding that trying to get over there would be too disruptive, so instead, he inches down the side of the room he's on until he's found a comfortable spot to stand near the front.

He looks at Blaine now, really looks at him, and his heart drops.

Blaine doesn't look well at all.

He looks exhausted, his face pale and his eyes dark. His hair is messier than usual, and the smile on his face is so obviously forced and strained.

And this is most likely Kurt's fault.

Kurt sighs, crossing his arms over his chest.

God, he really needs to fix this.

.

.

"Next question."

Hands go up all around the room, and the announcer looks around. She points at someone on the left side of the room. "Yes – you right there."

A tall, blond-haired man stands up. "Blaine," he says. "Santana – all other rumors aside, I'm sure most of us are wondering – are you two in a relationship? Romantically?"

"Well," Blaine says, leaning forward into the mic, a smirk playing at his lips. "We've been getting that question a lot, lately. We've tried just brushing it off, but I think it's time for us to be honest." He pauses, and then turns to Santana, draping an arm around her shoulders.

"We're dating," Santana says with a small giggle. "For about a week and a half now." She leans in towards Blaine, capturing his lips on her own.

Kurt's head immediately starts spinning, bile rising in his throat and he swallows hard, leaning against the wall for support.

Dating?

A week and a half?

But that means –

His mind is going a million miles a minute, and he tries to decipher everything that he's thinking, but he can't. All that he knows is that it _hurts. _His heart is shattering into a million pieces, his stomach twisting up in knots and it just hurts.

He waits, trying to stay calm until Blaine and Santana are dismissed offstage, and as soon as Blaine disappears behind the backdrop, Kurt is stomping forward, rushing towards the steps and throwing himself behind the curtain until he reaches Blaine. He grabs his shoulder, roughly turning Blaine to face him.

"Kurt, what are y - ?"

He pulls his arm back and with all he has, slaps Blaine hard across the face.

His fingers burn, and he stands there breathing heavily, watching as Blaine reaches up for his cheek, his mouth hanging wide open.

"Kurt," he breathes. "Are you insane? What the hell was that for?"

"You used me," Kurt says through his teeth. "You lead me on, and you used me."

Instantly, Blaine's angry expression disappears and he reaches forward, shaking his head. "No, Kurt - you don't und – "

"I don't understand what?" Kurt challenges. "That you just used me for a good fuck? That you never cared about me and that date was just a way to get into my pants? Well, newsflash, Blaine – I _do_ know. I've seen the way you treat all your relationships, and I'm not going to let you do the same to me."

"Kurt, if you'd just let me explain – "

"No," Kurt says firmly. "I'm done, Blaine." He breaks off, laughing humorlessly, throwing his hands up in the air as he walks in a circled. "God, I'm so _stupid_," he mutters. "I _knew _it. I knew you'd pull something like this. I kept trying to convince myself that I was just being stupid and judgmental, but this voice at the back of my head kept nagging me, telling me that you were only playing me, and it was right."

"No," Blaine says quickly shaking his head. "Kurt, I never – "

"You did though," Kurt says sharply. "You played me. I actually thought I had a chance," he says, throwing his head back and smiling painfully. "I actually thought there was a chance that we could be together. That it would work out. I thought maybe you'd return my feelings, but _God_, was I wrong. I always knew," Kurt sighs, looking right into Blaine's eyes. "I knew you'd break my heart."

And he turns on his heel, stomping away.

Blaine doesn't have the heart to chase after him.

_You broke my heart first._

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** The response to last chapter was so incredible, and I just need to thank each and every one of you. I was so worried about posting the smut, but so many of you were pleased with it, and that's all I could really aim for. So, as always, thank you all so much.


	12. Chapter 12

**twelve.**

* * *

><p>The phone on Kurt's nightstand vibrates once again, and once again he ignores it.<p>

He hasn't talked to anyone in at least twenty-four hours. He'd called into work sick, and he's been shut up away in his apartment, curled up in bed with the TV playing quietly in the background. He's only gotten up to use the bathroom and drink water; he hasn't been able to eat because a) he just hasn't had the desire and b) he's afraid he'll throw up if he does.

Kurt feels horrible.

His sinuses are clogged from crying for so many hours, and his head is pounding. Not to mention the fact that his heart feels shattered. No – his whole body, really. He just feels broken, with no way to fix it. He has no desire to do anything, least of all go to work where he has to look at Blaine all day.

And think about how he's dating Santana. Kissing her, holding her, loving her. And god, he should have seen. He should have realized. He's seen the way they are when they're together. How they lean close to each other when they talk. How they're always smiling as soon as they see each other. And how did Kurt even believe that Blaine cared about him at all?

Kurt curls tighter into himself, squeezing his eyes shut against the fresh wave of tears.

He just wishes this whole mess wouldn't have happened.

He wishes he could go back and stop himself from asking Blaine out. That he wouldn't have just this once made the first move.

God, why?

Why does he always have to fall so fast and so hard? A guy simply fucking looks at him without being disgusted and Kurt chases after him. What happened to the hatred he and Blaine had harbored towards each other? How had it just disappeared, replaced by confusing feelings, mistaken messages, and whole lot of heartbreak?

No, Kurt really doesn't wish they were still fighting. However, he does wish that they hadn't fallen for each other. Well, in Kurt's case. He still has no idea what the fuck is up with Blaine. If he really did like Kurt, or if maybe he wasn't all that into vaginas at the moment while dating Santana and if he was just craving some cock.

Either way, it's still painful, and Kurt would much rather have not feelings at all for Blaine.

Honestly, why couldn't they have just had a normal relationship between co-workers? No stupid hormones and sexual urges throwing them off. Why not even just friends? Why couldn't Kurt just stay friends with him, and not develop romantic feelings?

Things would be so much easier if he hadn't.

.

.

After two days, Kurt supposes he should get back to work. He knows Quinn wants him healthy and happy, but he doesn't really think he's going to reach that any time soon. There's too much damage done, and the longer he waits to step back into reality, the more it's going to hurt.

So he drags himself out of bed, manages to shower and pull on a fresh pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, and drinks a cup of black coffee. It really doesn't hit Kurt until he's pulling into the parking lot that he's going to have to deal with Blaine today.

But then he does, and fuck – he loses it all over again.

Two days was not enough to get over this, and now he's hunched over in the driver's seat, sobbing and hopelessly trying to calm himself. Eventually, he's able to heave a deep breath and wipe his tears. He closes his eyes, breathing deep for ten seconds, and biting down hard on his lip, he gets out of the car, walking into the building.

Kurt enters Blaine's dressing room cautiously, but when he peeks inside, he sees that it's empty.

He straightens up, and shuts the door, quickly retreating to his office.

Kurt gets about ten minutes into his work before he starts to feel overwhelmed again. Because oh god, it smells like Blaine, and those are his close on the racks just behind him, and he could walk in at any moment, and Kurt just doesn't know how long everything is going to suck. He just wants to know that someday he won't hurt so much, that everything will be okay.

"Kurt?"

He turns around, and he doesn't think he's ever been so grateful to see Quinn in his life.

As soon as she sees him, she takes a step forward, frowning.

"Oh, Kurt," she sighs. "You look terrible. You're still sick, aren't you? You shouldn't have come in today."

"I'm not sick," Kurt says, wiping his nose.

Quinn's eyebrows crease together.

"I lied," Kurt says quietly. "I just – I'm upset," he says. "I'm heartbroken and depressed and I don't know what to do."

Quinn's face falls, her expression sympathetic. "Kurt," she says softly. "What happened?"

He shakes his head, because he's really having a hard time talking about it, and also, he's not really comfortable telling those people closest to Blaine about their secret romance.

"I – " he heaves a deep breath. "I just – I fell in love with someone, I thought they loved me back, and – and they don't. And it wasn't just mild flirting and compliments. It was real – or at least it felt real. I thought we were a couple, but I guess not. And it – hurts."

"Oh, Kurt," Quinn sighs, and she moves forward, leaning down and pulling Kurt into her arms.

He wraps his arms around her neck and collapses against her, burying his face in her shoulder.

"Kurt, I'm so sorry," she says. "I know what it feels like to not have someone love you. When you've given yourself to them, but they can't do the same in return. It sucks, I know, and I'm here for you."

"Thank you," Kurt breathes, and he leans back, wiping his eyes. "Thank you so much, Quinn."

"Of course," Quinn says softly. "You're a wonderful person, Kurt, and I won't ever let you forget that."

And if for a moment, Kurt's heart feels whole again. Tears come a little faster, and he hastens to wipe them.

"Come on," Quinn says. "Blaine's filming twelve hours a day for the next week, so there's not much for us to do around here. What do you say we take the day off?"

Kurt nods, sniffling, and forces a shaky smile. "That sounds . . . like a relief."

Quinn smiles and helps Kurt shakily to his feet. "So, lunch and then a shopping trip?"

.

.

Kurt collapses in one of the chairs at the small table, dropping his shopping bags next to him.

"Oh my God, I'm exhausted," he mutters, leaning back as Quinn takes the seat across from him.

"Then I vote it's time for some food," Quinn says. "Burgers or pizza?"

They look at each other for a second, and at the same time say, "Pizza."

"I'll be right back," Quinn says, and she walks over to the pizza counter.

Kurt takes out his phone to check the time, but that's obviously a mistake because instead of looking at the numbers printed at the top of the screen, his eyes go straight to the alerts. The thirty-seven missed calls and the fifty-eight text messages, most of which are probably Blaine.

He knows it's not the smart thing to do, but Kurt clicks on his messages, telling himself he'll only look at the first couple, but before he can help it, he's scrolling through them.

**Blaine:** Kurt, please. Can we just talk about this?

**Blaine:** I never meant to hurt you. This is just a huge misunderstanding.

**Santana:** Kurt, can you just answer your fucking phone? I need to talk to you.

**Blaine:** Everything about the other night was sincere. I do care about you. More than you can imagine.

**Blaine:** Please, Kurt. Please, will you just pick up?

**Santana:** You have everything wrong. Will you just let me explain things to you?

**Blaine:** I'm sorry. I really am. I didn't want things to end up like this.

Kurt lets out a heavy sigh and closes his messages, tightening his fingers around his phone.

Yeah, he didn't really want things to end up like this either, but then Blaine had to make Kurt believe that they were going to be together, only to reveal the next day that he was dating Santana, and had been for a week and a half.

And so basically, Kurt helped Blaine cheat on Santana?

But then why was Santana in on this? Was this her sick idea as well? Kurt swallows back the bile rising in his throat and pockets his cell phone. His breath is starting to shake, and he knows he's on the verge of crying. He takes a deep breath, hoping to calm himself, but it only makes everything worse.

He knows that he should probably talk to one of them, but he just doesn't think any explanation will make all that's happened okay. He completely gave himself to Blaine (almost), and Blaine had turned around and stabbed him in the back. He's damaged Kurt beyond repair, and nothing – no matter what he does is going to make it better.

Maybe one day Kurt will heal, he'll get over this in move on.

But there's always going to be a part of him that's broken.

.

.

Quinn returns with the food, and Kurt works quickly to get control of himself. He shifts his weight and sniffles, but it's not exactly discreet and Quinn pauses, glancing at him.

"You okay?" she asks.

"Fine," Kurt replies, and he takes his tray from Quinn's hands. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Quinn replies, and they fall into an uneasy silence.

Kurt stifles a sigh as he nibbles on his food, and he can feel Quinn watching him. He knows that she's worried, that she wishes he would talk about it, but he's just not comfortable admitting that it's Blaine who broke his heart. That would just make things even more awkward and tense at work, and Kurt doesn't need that.

So thinking back, Kurt asks, "Who was he?"

Quinn looks up, confused. "Who's who?"

"The guy," Kurt says. "Who's the guy who didn't love you back?"

Quinn sighs, sitting back. "Well," she sighs. "Actually – he's not the one who didn't love me. I was the one who - it's kind of complicated.."

"I'm ready to listen," Kurt replies, smirking.

Quinn smirks back before looking serious once again. "Well," she starts. "When I began high school, I went to a boarding school. Guys and girls, and it specialized in the performing arts. And if you don't know – the band Wingmen originated at Bradview's Preparatory School for Performing Arts. And I – well I was involved with more than one band member. I started dating Finn Hudson my freshman year, and it was perfect. We were in love – or so we thought, and both of us were the kids you knew were going to end up stars."

"What happened?" Kurt asks, because obviously, Quinn didn't exactly make it to the outright spotlight.

"I made a mistake in sophomore year," Quinn says. "Noah Puckerman had his sights set on me, and one night he got me drunk, snuck me into his dorm room, and we had sex. A month later, and I had a positive pregnancy test."

Kurt feels his mouth drop, his eyes widening.

Quinn nods. "I tried to tell Finn it was his, but we'd never really had sex. I made up something about him coming in the hot tub, but it obviously was a lie. He only believed it because he didn't want to think about the other option. However, eventually he was forced to, and that was the end of our relationship."

"Now, Noah, he's a whole different story," Quinn sighs. "I remember standing right next to him, looking at our daughter soon after birth. We – were giving her away, and even though I knew it was the right thing to do – she didn't need to be involved in our crazy, hectic lives; what she needed was the chance to grow up out of the spotlight and the insanity of Hollywood – it still hurt. Because now I was losing two things."

"Noah told me that he loved me. Right then, he told me that he had loved me when we had sex, and that he still did then. But I wouldn't let myself love him. I fought it and I fought it until I couldn't take it anymore. I had to admit to myself that I loved him, but by then, he was with someone else. And now the two people I cared most about in the world were gone."

"Quinn," Kurt breathes. "Quinn, I'm – I'm so sorry."

"I'm okay now," Quinn says smiling. "Noah's happy. Beth's happy. And if they are, so am I."

Kurt nods, avoiding her eyes. "Do – do you ever get to see your daughter?" he asks.

"Yes," Quinn says, smiling. "Don't you remember that scandal about two years ago? Noah and I were going to visit her in Ohio, and that was when Wingmen had just broken out. Paparazzi caught us, and Noah did a big interview about it to clear things up. People have forgotten about it now – it's just sort of common knowledge that Noah has a daughter, and that he was involved with me."

Kurt nods to himself, eyebrows creased. "Actually, yeah – I do remember that. I thought everything sounded familiar."

"Noah doesn't get to see her as much," Quinn continues. "He's been able to see her only once since then. But I see her around the holidays, at Easter, and I try to see her as much as I can in between."

"Wow," Kurt breathes. "I feel a little pathetic right now – I shouldn't even be complaining."

"Of course you should," Quinn says gently. "Broken hearts aren't fun, Kurt – no matter the situation. And I did most of that to myself. It doesn't seem like you asked for this."

Kurt shakes his head, frowning. "But I did," he sighs. "I – I left him in the middle of a date. Just walked out without an explanation. Because I was too afraid of trusting him." He sighs. "But he was just using me anyway, so I – I just don't know."

Quinn purses her lips, looking down at the table.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asks. "It would be easier for me to help you if I knew what exactly is going on."

Kurt shakes his head. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. "But I can't. And all you need to know is that he's got someone else, so really, there's nothing I can do now."

"Don't think like that," Quinn says sternly. "Kurt, there's always something you can do. And if you never try, how are you supposed to know that?" She leans forward, placing her hand over Kurt's. "You have no idea what's going through this guy's head. He could be thinking the exact same things, Kurt. You should at least try to talk to him and work things out. I don't exactly know what's going on Kurt, but it seems like you don't either."

Kurt looks up, a little startled.

Because Quinn's entirely right.

.

.

By the time Kurt arrives back home, he's no longer feeling inspired and confident in trying to fix everything. Yes, he wants to make everything alright. He does need to talk to Blaine and Santana, but now that he's by himself again, he's sinking right back into that pit of despair.

He just doesn't know how to approach Blaine. He doesn't know what he's supposed to say or do, and honestly, he doesn't know what he hopes Blaine says and does in return. And mostly, he's still stuck on his belief that no matter what happens, it's not going to fix anything. He's still certain that nothing's going to make him feel better.

And once Kurt steps inside, it only enforces that.

He grabs his mail and looks through it on the way up to his apartment. The third letter makes his heart skip a beat, and he swallows hard.

On the top left of the envelope is the blazing emblem of Ütopia, and memories are coming back to Kurt in a rush, making his throat feel tight. He sees Blaine's bright, shining smile, and that sparkle in his eyes, so thrilled with himself to see Kurt happy.

Except then he had to go and ruin everything

And why?

Why did he have to pretend like that? Why did he have to make Kurt believe that his feelings were real and sincere? Why did he have to make Kurt feel so safe and at home, only to leave him out in the cold?

And now Kurt is surpassing sadness. The tables have turned and Kurt's moving quickly to anger. He's irritated and he's frustrated, and he wants nothing more than to make Blaine at least half the pain he's feeling. Slapping him wasn't enough. Kurt wants to find Blaine and punch every each of him he can reach.

He just can't believe, can't fathom why Blaine had to do this. He doesn't understand why Blaine thought it was okay to just go and destroy him. He doesn't understand how Blaine could think that this was okay, that he had any right to go and tear someone else down. What did Blaine even have to gain?

Kurt sighs, and jamming his keys into the lock, unlocks his apartment door, throwing it open and then slamming it shut once he's inside. He walks over towards the couch and drops his bags unceremoniously on the cushions. He takes the letter from Ütopia and discards the others on the coffee table.

Storming into the kitchen, Kurt pulls the letter from its envelope, reading and seething with each word.

_Dear Mr. Kurt Hummel,_

_Upon receiving your resume from a Mr. Blaine Anderson, we've come to the unanimous decision to offer you an internship here at our headquarters. We would love to have your talent here in even the smallest way we can, and do hope it can amount to something more in the future. If you're interested, please contact us at –_

Kurt stops reading, clenching his teeth together.

Sure, he's interested, but he's not taking something from Blaine. He won't accept it.

So, he walks over to the garbage and rips the letter into shreds.

Just like Blaine did to his heart.


	13. Chapter 13

**thirteen.**

* * *

><p>Blaine hasn't slept for two days now.<p>

Two days he's stayed up, mind racing, thoughts blurring as he gulps down bottle after bottle. He's been trying to forget, trying to not think about what's happened, but since sleep can't do that for him, he's resorted to using alcohol take it away in a burning haze.

Except now things are slipping through, and with each thought, he feels another stab in his heart. He keeps slipping into reality, only to find himself pushing it away with another drink.

.

.

Blaine grips the sides of the toilet as firmly as he can, his arms shaking. He shuts his eyes as he feels his throat tighten. And then he heaves, throwing up violently into the porcelain bowl. A combination of the alcohol coursing through his veins, the overwhelming heartbreak, and the horrible guilt makes him heave again. And again. And again.

"Blaine?"

He doesn't move. He can't. He stays bent over the toilet bowl, breathing hard and squeezing his eyes shut as the nausea dies down.

A hand rests itself on his shoulder, and he hangs his head. All the strength leaves his body, and he collapses to his knees.

"Whoa – Blaine, are you okay?"

He shakes his head, letting out a groan.

Santana lowers herself to the ground, pulling Blaine into her arms. He rests his head against her chest, breathing a little easier.

"I feel awful," he mutters.

Santana sighs. "I can imagine – how much did you have to drink?"

"I don't know," Blaine sighs, and Santana can hear the obvious slur in his voice. "A lot. But it's not just that," he says.

"Not just what?" Santana asks, rubbing his back.

"It's not just the alcohol," Blaine says. "It's Kurt. I feel awful because I hurt Kurt."

Santana feels her mouth part, her eyebrows dipping.

There's been many times she thought she's seen Blaine hit rock bottom, but this – this by far is the worst. He's drunk and sick and absolutely miserable, only vaguely aware of what's going on. But he's still beating himself up over the mess with Kurt. He's still blaming himself for everything. He just looks lost, with no clue how to find his way back.

"Blaine," she sighs. "Blaine, we'll figure this out. It's just a huge misunderstanding. We'll talk to Kurt, okay? We'll explain to him what's going on, and then you two can love each other and run off into the sunset on a unicorn."

Blaine doesn't laugh. He heaves a deep breath and shifts his weight.

"But what if he doesn't listen?" he asks, and God, Santana's heart is actually breaking at the look on his face.

"He will," she says as confidently as she can. "If he cares about you as much as you care about him, he will listen."

Blaine nods awkwardly, snuggling tighter into Santana.

"No, no," Santana says. "Come on – we've got to get you sobered up before filming starts."

"I don't want to go to filming," Blaine whines, wrapping his arms around Santana's neck.

"Yeah, well that's what you're being paid to do," Santana says. "You need to take things off your mind anyway." She tries to help him off of her lap but he protests.

"No," he mumbles. "Santana, please. I don't want to. I just want to go home and sleep . . . for the next few days."

Santana relaxes, just looking at him.

His eyes are closed, but still strained and tight. His lips are turned down into a pitiful frown, and he's pale – extremely pale, with dark circles underneath his eyes. He looks terrible, he really does, but he also looks almost like a child, curled up and vulnerable in her lap. And all he wants is to escape the responsibility of his life.

Santana bites her lip.

"Blaine," she says quietly. "Just come with me. Even if you don't want to film, you'll feel better when you're sober. You've got to drink water, eat something. And if you get through filming today, we'll make an excuse to your parents, and you can come stay with me."

Blaine looks up, eyes wide. "Are you sure?" he asks.

Santana nods, grinning. "Positive."

He hugs her tight, murmuring, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Santana hug shim back for a moment. "Of course, Blaine. Obviously, you need someone right now. You need someone to watch out for you and to make sure you're not doing stupid things. And I've got your back. I'm not – I'm not usually one to get all touchy-feely with people, but God, I see so much of myself in you, Blaine. And I'm not going to let you make the same stupid mistakes."

Blaine freezes, looking up at here. Even through the haze of alcohol, he can understand. This means the world to him, and Santana can see it in the burning of his eyes.

"Santana," is all he can get out.

"Shh," she says sharply. "You don't have to say anything. Just come on and let me help you."

He nods, and somehow staggers to his feet, letting her lead the way.

.

.

Blaine collapses with a heavy sigh on Santana's couch. He leans his head back, closing his eyes and wishing he could just go to sleep right now. But his mind is too busy, and he knows that now's where it's going to get difficult.

He knows that Santana wants to talk to him, that he's going to actually have to think about all of this again, and most likely, he'll end up sobbing into her shoulder.

Blaine's stretched out on the couch, breath slow and eyes closed when Santana comes into the living room, two mugs held in her end. She hands one to him, sitting beside him as he straightens up.

"It's tea," she says. "With just a little bit of vanilla – it's what I drink mostly, other than alcohol." She smirks, taking a sip. "Oh, come on – it's not going to bite you. Just drink it."

Blaine glares at her before carefully testing it.

"Hmm," he says. "Not bad."

"Yeah, I figured you could use something other than Vodka," Santana says.

Blaine says nothing, staring awkwardly down at his mug.

"Alright, alright," Santana says. "Too soon for jokes. How are you feeling?"

"The only thing that's better is that I'm not throwing up and I can see straight," Blaine mutters, sighing.

Santana nods, pressing her lips together. "I know it sucks," she says, looking towards him. She scoots closer, turning herself to face him. "I told you about the girl who helped me realize my sexuality, right?"

"Yeah," Blaine says, keeping his eyes down.

"Well, I don't think you'd really like to hear this," Santana starts, "but here goes." She takes a deep breath, preparing herself. "Brittany meant the world to me. She was beautiful and brilliant, and she was my everything. But it took me too long to realize it. "

"Like I told you, I didn't know that I was a lesbian. I didn't know what those feelings were for the longest time, but eventually I made that connection. The truth started seeping through more and more with each passing day. With each contact of our eyes, with each smile we shared, with each touch we felt, it became clearer to me that these feelings were much stronger than I'd thought. Friendship wasn't enough for me; I wanted to be with Brittany.

"I wanted to go out on dates with her at expensive restaurants. I wanted to hold and kiss her. I wanted her to be my date to every premiere and award show. I just wanted her to be mine.

"But I was too afraid to admit it. I was too afraid to admit to any one that I had feelings for a girl, that I was a lesbian. And so I pushed her away, and I played with her emotions until one day I just had to face the facts. And I told her. I told her I loved her, but she was happily in love with guy named Artie Abrams.

"No, things didn't work out for us. But I'm okay now, and so is she. She's marrying him in a little over a year, and I couldn't be happier. But Blaine – you're not too late. And I won't let you be. You're going to get this right with Kurt, because maybe Brittany and I weren't meant to be together, but when I look at you and Kurt. When I see the way you look at him and he looks at you, there's no doubt in my mind that you two love each other, and that if you fix this, you're going to have a long and happy life together."

Blaine stares up at her, mouth hanging open, and yep, already crying.

He shakes his head, letting out a choked sob.

"Santana," he breathes. "I don't – it's not going to happen. Kurt and I aren't meant to be together. I'm pretty sure the universe has made that clear enough."

Santana raises her eyebrows.

"Blaine, don't count yourself out just yet."

She pauses, and reaches down, gripping Blaine's wrist.

"The only way this won't work out is if you don't try, Blaine," Santana says. "If you don't even confront Kurt, then yes, you two won't be able to fix this. But if you do, then I guarantee the two of you will be fucking like rabbits in no time."

.

.

Blaine rolls over on his bed, tosses and turns a few more times, before finally sitting up.

He just cannot sleep.

All he can think about is Kurt, but once he does his heart breaks a little. And so now he's given up thinking about all of his emotions, because no matter what he starts thinking about, it always ends up back to heartbreak.

Now he's trying to think about the good parts of their relationship. Like the date, and the karaoke, and the dancing, but those physical things – they make Blaine feel certain things, and -

You know what, fuck it.

It's late at night anyway, Santana's asleep, and Blaine hasn't had real sex in weeks. And Kurt – goddamnit, Kurt. How, even when they're fighting like this – when they're both so broken over this stupid misunderstanding, how does Kurt still manage to make Blaine feel this way?

Blaine sighs heavily, closing his eyes.

He feels the urge, strong and demanding, and slowly, his fingers trembling, he reaches inside his pants, slipping underneath his underwear. Images of Kurt filling his mind, he wraps a hand around his cock. He sees Kurt dancing at the bar, and his breath hitches slightly as his fingers move up and down, stroking himself.

He lets out a shaky sigh, and with Kurt's hips on his mind, he thrusts his own hips slightly upward. After a few seconds, he feels himself begin to harden, and he strokes himself again.

"Fuck," he mutters to himself. "Ugh – Kurt. Fuck."

He starts moving his hips a little faster, and as best as he can with one hand, pulls his pants completely down, letting them hang around his knees; it's easier for him to move this way.

Now his mind strays towards after the bar, and the way Kurt's mouth feels against his. The way their hips feel when they collide. The way Kurt's hands move across his body.

He thrusts harder.

He thinks of the way Kurt's body looks. They way his arms are perfectly chiseled. The way the muscles smooth across his abdomen. The way his V dips down into his sculpted thighs.

Blaine thrusts harder.

He thinks of how beautiful Kurt is. His soft, shiny hair. His sparkling, blue-green eyes. And god – the way his eyes glisten, bright and fiery and his swollen, ruby lips parting when he's about to come.

Blaine thrusts harder, fucking into his hand, and he comes in a mess all over his fingers.

But he's not satisfied.

And he knows why.

Because it wasn't Kurt that made Blaine come. Kurt's body wasn't pressed against his, and Kurt wasn't whispering low, raspy, frantic "I love you"s in Blaine's ear.

And because thinking about Kurt and how attractive he is – yes it, turns Blaine on, but it also reminds him that he no longer has Kurt.

And it's the same cycle all over again. No matter what Blaine lets his mind wander off to, it somehow comes back to this mess of heartbreak.

Thinking about the date and the kiss and nearly making Kurt come, it just reminds him about what ended it all. It reminds that Kurt just walked out – left him there to wade in his own misery, wondering what exactly he did wrong.

It reminds him of the next day when all he wanted was to talk to Kurt, and instead got a slap in the face – literally.

It reminds him that at one point in time, Blaine had the chance.

For one brief night, there was a world of possibilities. And Blaine's mind had swum with images of the future. Of calling Kurt his boyfriend, of holding him and kissing him. They'd move back into Blaine's house together. They'd fall asleep curled as one, sweaty and hot, their naked skin sticking together. They'd wake up together, staring at each other and murmuring I love you until Kurt would get up first, Blaine lazing around.

Kurt would go to work at his internship for Ütopia until he was moved up to a head designer there, and Blaine would be working on his next movie, or somewhere doing something for the press. They'd return late at night, exchanging quick kisses before they talk about how their days went over dinner and staring at each other longingly.

And fuck, thinking about this only makes Blaine feel worse.

This is everything that he lost, everything he could have had, and everything he wants so, so desperately.

.

.

The week goes by, and Blaine stays attached to Santana's hip, always going to her when he feels like he's about to break down. But eventually, he does have to go back to the agency.

On Saturday, he has a meeting with Quinn.

He basically tip-toes inside, bloodshot eyes darting around for any sign of Kurt. Yes, he does need to talk to Kurt, but not yet. He's not ready, and he's hoping that when he finally does have time to sit down and talk with Kurt, he'll be able to have Santana close by.

Somehow, Blaine makes it to Quinn's door without running into Kurt. He knocks quickly, bouncing on his toes until he hears Quinn call, "Come in!"

He pushes the door open carefully, peering into the room. It's empty except for Quinn, and he breathes a sigh of relief, stepping in and shutting the door.

"You okay?" Quinn asks, raising her eyebrows.

"Yeah, yeah – fine," Blaine says, voice unnaturally high.

"Are you sure?" Quinn asks, looking more serious.

Blaine nods this time, sitting awkwardly down in front of her.

"Alright," Quinn sighs, shifting her wait. "Well, I just called you in to tell you I booked an interview next weekend for you and Santana. It's pretty exclusive, so I need you on your best behavior."

Blaine sighs heavily, thumping his fist against his thigh.

"Blaine – "

"I'm sorry, Quinn," Blaine says, shaking his head. "I'm just – I'm dealing with a bunch of shit right now, and I just don't know how I'll be in good condition for a huge interview. Yes, I'll be there. Yes, I'll do my best to please everyone, but – but I don't need to deal with this right now."

Quinn sighs. "Kurt's really upset too," she says absently, biting her lip. "God, what's going on with everyone?"

Blaine feels himself blush, and he lowers his gaze.

"Blaine?" Quinn asks after a moment, and he looks up again. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Blaine shakes his head. "No, I'm – I'm doing better now. It's just – it's more stress, and – "

"I get it," Quinn says. "And I'm sorry this is bad timing, but this interview is really important."

"I know," Blaine says, rubbing his neck. "And I'll be there Quinn – I promise."

"Thank you, Blaine," Quinn says, "and if you need to talk – "

But he's already standing up, heading for the door.

He races for his car, and throws himself inside, screaming in frustration.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Decided to post two chapters tonight. And also, two chapters until this fic is done. Well, and the epilogue. And right now, I'm so overwhelmed with the all of the support this fic has been given. I couldn't have even imagined this response. I know I say this every week, but it's true. Every week I just get more and more amazed by all of you. Thank you so much.


	14. Chapter 14

**fourteen.**

* * *

><p>Kurt straightens his tie, letting out a sigh as he looks at himself in the mirror.<p>

His hair is hair-sprayed to perfection, his tie is now straight, and there isn't a speck of dust on his jacket. It's nice looking professional again – no old, rolled-up sweatshirts and faded jeans. At least when he's dressed up and looking nice, no one can tell that underneath his expensive clothes, he's breaking inside.

He's not exactly looking forward to today, but he's been avoiding Blaine for over a week now, and he figures it's time to just get it over with and at least deal with being in the same room. Plus, Quinn will be there, and he can just latch onto her if he's feeling down.

So with a heavy sigh, and an even heavier heart, Kurt grabs his keys and heads from his apartment, onwards to the agency.

.

.

Blaine lets out a frustrated sigh, and it crackles against the receiver.

"Santana, I don't think I can do this."

"Yes, you can, Blaine," she replies. "And besides, you really have to do this. You've been ignoring Kurt for how long? Don't you think it's time to talk to him?"

Blaine chews on his lip before answering. "I'm not ready," he says.

"Well, when are you going to be?" Santana counters. "Blaine, remember my story? Remember how I avoided telling Brittany the truth? And by the time I did it was too late? I told you. I told you that I'm going to let that happen between you and Kurt, but I can't do that if you're not willing to cooperate."

"But it's not that I'm not willing," Blaine says exasperatedly. "It's that I'm _not ready. _I just – I don't even know what to say to him."

"Oh, I don't know – how about . . . 'I'm not dating Santana, it's all for publicity, and I'm really in love with you?'"

Blaine sighs again. "It's more than that, Santana. He's not going to believe anything I say. He's determined to believe that I don't actually care about him."

"Well, then show him that you care," Santana replies. "Lay one on him."

"Yeah, like he's going to let me get that close," Blaine replies sarcastically.

The line goes into a silence as they both sit there, thinking of what to say, but coming up with nothing.

"I just have to get this right," Blaine says quietly. "I've messed everything else up, and if I'm going to get one thing right, it has to be this."

"You will," Santana says confidently. "Blaine, just the way you talk to me about Kurt. If you talked that way to him, if you told him the things you tell me – well, then I don't think there's any way you two won't make it out of this a couple."

Blaine feels his mouth move up into a reluctant grin. "I just want him to know," he sighs, letting it fall. "I want him to know, and I want him to believe that I love him. Because I do. I've gone through so much to get there, but I honestly love Kurt."

"See?" Santana says, and Blaine can practically hear the smile in her voice. "Then all you have to do is tell him that, Blaine."

Blaine takes a deep breath, looking down at his lap. "Fine," he says. "After the interview today, I'll talk to him, alright?"

"Good," Santana says. "Because you're no fun when all you do is mope."

.

.

"Oh, good," Quinn says as she peaks into Blaine's dressing room. "Kurt, you're here. But have either of you seen Blaine?"

Kurt and Jeff share a look before turning back to Quinn and shaking their heads.

Quinn curses under her breath.

"Hey," Jeff says, standing up and crossing the room. "Quinn, calm down."

"I can't calm down," she says, frustrated. "This interview is huge, it's exclusive, and it has to go perfectly. But it can't go perfectly if one of the people being interviewed doesn't show up."

Jeff reaches out, grabbing Quinn's wrist carefully. "Just take a deep breath. He'll be here."

"Not in time to get his outfit ready," Quinn sighs.

"It'll be fine," Kurt says.

Quinn opens her mouth to disagree, but Kurt holds a hand up.

"I'm his stylist, Quinn," Kurt reminds her. "And I've seen how he dresses outside of my choices. He'll be okay for the interview. And if need be, I'll have a blazer on stock just in case. It will change any outfit around."

Quinn smiles, absently twisting her hand to slide into Jeff's. "What would I do without you guys?" she asks with a smirk.

Kurt smiles back, but he can't deny that he's just as panicked as she is.

Because all he wants is to just get this over with already. He just needs to talk to Blaine, and the longer the buildup is, the more antsy he becomes.

"I let you two be," Kurt says with a slight wink, and he retreats into his office, fighting the tears of frustration.

.

.

Blaine's gotten as far as the agency.

But now he's sitting in his car, hands gripping the wheel tightly, and he's frozen. He can't move; he's too afraid.

He's too afraid of seeing Kurt, of being forced to talk to him. He's afraid of letting his emotions out, of being completely and utterly honest with Kurt. He's afraid of showing Kurt his real self, all the flaws and all the mistakes that come with him.

And mostly, he's afraid of rejection.

He's afraid that Kurt will hear his explanation, and just turn away. He's afraid that Kurt won't forgive him, and that Blaine will just spend the rest of his life living in regret.

And he knows it's stupid.

Kurt isn't that kind of person. Kurt is reasonable and compassionate, and like he's said himself, he tries to put himself in other people's shoes. But this – this is different than alcohol addiction. This is Kurt's heart – his emotions and his feelings, and Blaine messed with them.

How can Kurt try to understand that?

How can Kurt _once again_, try to understand why Blaine has hurt him? How can Kurt get over that with only one explanation?

He can't – that's the thing. And Blaine completely understands that. Blaine knows that he's messed up, and he's already been forgiven multiple times, and he doesn't feel like he should be forgiven now. He's messed up too many times, and Kurt – Kurt deserves better.

Kurt deserves so much better than Blaine, and Blaine feels selfish for ever believing that he and Kurt could be together. Kurt doesn't need to deal with Blaine outside work. Kurt needs to move on and do bigger and better things, and Blaine needs to give him that chance. Kurt needs to forget about Blaine, forget about all of this, because he really should be anywhere else, getting his big break, and Blaine can't hold him back anymore.

Tears are running down Blaine's face now, and he just – he can't do this.

He'll tell Kurt another time.

He'll tell Kurt to leave the agency and go put himself into that Ütopia internship. He'll tell Kurt to move on and to not look back, because he deserves much more than this.

But not right now.

Blaine needs to compose himself right now. He needs to take a deep breath, and figure out how exactly he's going to say this.

And before Blaine knows what he's doing, he's backing out of the agency parking lot, merging back onto the highway.

.

.

"Ten minutes to show!"

Quinn groans, putting her face into her hands. "Goddamnit, Blaine!"

"Ten minutes to show," Jeff repeats. "Quinn, they don't go on until the end."

"He promised me," Quinn says, her voice raising. "He promised me he'd be here. Why is he not here?"

Santana turns away from Quinn, Jeff, and Kurt, pulling out her phone and dialing Blaine's number. She taps her foot as it rings, urging him to pick up. Right before the voicemail, he answers.

"I'm sorry," he says immediately.

"Sorry is not good enough, Blaine," Santana replies. "Where the hell are you?"

"Nowhere you need to worry about," Blaine replies.

"Uh – yes, I need to worry about it," Santana replies incredulously. "Blaine Anderson, we have a fucking interview in forty-five minutes. I am _not_ going out there by myself and covering up for you."

"Well, I'm not showing up, so good luck with that," Blaine snaps.

"Blaine, what is even going on?" Santana asks, sighing heavily. "I thought you were going to talk to Kurt and work things out after the show?"

"Yeah, well, I changed my mind," Blaine replies bitterly. "I'll talk to Kurt on my own time."

"Blaine, what about it being too late?" Santana asks.

"What about that being you and Brittany?" Blaine asks, raising his voice. "That isn't Kurt and I, okay? And you know, maybe I want to be too late. Maybe I want Kurt to move on and forget about me because I'm not good enough for him anyway." He breaks off, heaving a sigh. "Maybe he deserves better."

The line is silent for a moment as Santana takes in what Blaine is saying.

"Blaine . . ."

"Forget it," Blaine says quickly. "I – I have to go now. Tell everyone I'm sorry, but I'm not coming."

"No, Blaine - !"

But the line's already dead.

Santana heaves a deep sigh as she pockets her phone, returning to where everyone's gathered around, brainstorming ideas of where Blaine could possibly be, and why he isn't here, and what's been going on with him.

"I just don't get it," Quinn says. "What – what is going on with him? I mean, yes, the movie is probably stressing him out a lot, but he seemed like he was doing better."

"Oh my god," Santana says, crossing her arms. "Are you two really that stupid?" she asks, looking at Quinn and Jeff.

"Why?" Jeff asks. "Should we know what's going on? You know, he hasn't exactly talked to me in – "

"Kurt," Santana says sharply. "Why don't you tell them what's going on, huh?"

Immediately, Kurt blushes, biting his lip. Quinn and Jeff both look to him, confused expressions on their faces.

"Kurt?" Quinn asks gently. "What's going on?"

"Well," Santana starts. "I don't know if Blaine told you about his night with his little fashion guru over here, but – "

"Santana," Kurt warns, glaring at her.

"Then you tell them," Santana says. "Tell them how Blaine's not just stressed out, but that he's absolutely heartbroken. He's been moping around for days, getting drunk and staying at my place because he doesn't want to go back to his parents and have them hound him on top of everything else."

Kurt shakes his head as if he doesn't want to listen.

"Wait – " Quinn says, looking between the two of them.

"And I have to drag him to filming because all he wants to do is lie in bed and just stare at the wall. We come home and he barely eats, and then he retreats to his guest room, and more than once I've heard him crying in there. Kurt, you have to let him talk to you."

Kurt presses his lips together.

"No," he says. "No, that – that can't be it."

"Are you _crazy?_" Santana asks. "Are you really that much of a fucking moron?"

"Santana, he can't – "

"Wait, did you two have sex?" Quinn asks, eyes wide.

"Not now!" Kurt practically shouts.

"Can't what?" Santana counters. "Can't be in love with you? Well, newsflash – he is! He's been in love with you since day one, those huge fucking puppy-dog eyes following you around wherever you go. God, you should hear the way he talks about you. It's so adorable it's almost sickening." Santana sighs, cocking her head in disbelief. "Why don't you believe me? What's so hard to understand?"

"Well, he's dating you!" Kurt blurts out.

Santana can't help it – she laughs, loud and howling. "Kurt, are you an idiot?" she asks. "Do you think that every pair of costars that 'date' are actually dating and in love?"

His guard falls now, and he turns his eyes away from her, sheepish.

"No," she says. "Kurt, just about every couple that's been costars only dates for publicity. It riles up the media and gets everyone even more excited for the movie."

Kurt bites his lip, looking up.

"And if that doesn't convince you," Santana continues. "I really do not like dicks. But, Blaine most definitely does. So yes, basically right now to the media, we are each others' big, gay beards."

"Oh, God," Kurt mutters, shaking his head. "I'm so stupid."

"Yeah," Santana agrees. "Blaine's in love with you, Kurt – so you better go find him and tell him you're in love with him too."

"But where?" Kurt asks desperately.

"You know," Santana says. "You know Blaine better than all of us – so go."

Kurt nods, grabbing in his pocket for his keys. "Alright, I – I'll be back."

And without another word, he turns on his heel and sprints from the room.

.

.

"What can I get for you?" the bartender asks, and Blaine doesn't even contemplate alcohol. He feels sick enough as it already is.

"Do you have any ginger ale?" he asks.

The bartender gives him a confused look before nodding and getting him a glass.

"Thanks," Blaine says, handing him a twenty. "And keep the change."

Another confused, almost shocked look, and the bartender turns away.

Blaine takes a careful sip, wishing that his mind would just calm down.

He'd come here to get away from everything, to just take some time to breathe, and yet, he's still being bombarded with thoughts and worries and all of these awful feelings.

And to make matters worse -

"Blaine?"

He turns around on his stool, heart racing and breath catching in his chest.

"Kurt?"

"Everyone's wondering where you are," Kurt says, taking a cautious step forward. "Once again, I'm the one that finds you."

"Well, tell them I'm sorry," Blaine replies bitterly, "but I can't make it today."

Kurt shakes his head. "I'm not going back there," he says firmly. "I'm not going back there until we talk."

Blaine laughs humorlessly, looking down. "I tried talking to you, but you wouldn't listen."

"Because I'm stupid," Kurt says, and suddenly there's tears spilling over his eyes. "Because I don't know how to trust people, and I – I always jump to the worst-case scenarios, and I – I just – I'm sorry, Blaine. I'm so sorry that all of this happened, and I just want to make this right."

Blaine sighs, and before he knows what's happening, he's standing up. He steps up in front of Kurt, pressing his lips together to keep from crying.

"Kurt, stop," he breathes. "Just stop. Okay, you had every right to do the things that you did. Of course you didn't think I cared about you, because I was such a jerk – such an asshole, and I'm so, so sorry I ever treated you the way I did."

He shakes his head, letting out a shaky breath.

Oh god, he can't now – he can't tell Kurt to move on now that he's standing right here. Because Kurt is so amazing, and he's everything Blaine's ever wanted, and it would just hurt to push him away now. So he's going to let Kurt make that choice. He'll be honest, and he'll take that rejection if that's Kurt's decision.

"And, Kurt I want you to know that I do care about you," his voice is already thick, and he has to swallow hard. "I've cared about you since the beginning. God – Santana was right." He shakes his head. "She saw right past my horrible attitude. She knew I – I was jealous. Kurt, I was so jealous of Jeff and how you two easily got along. I was jealous that he was spending all that time with you and you laughed at his jokes, and smiled at him, and I just couldn't take it so I lashed out. I just wanted you to like_ me_, and laugh at _my_ jokes, and smile at _me_ like that.

"And then I messed everything up," he says with a sigh. "I went too far, and you can't even imagine how horrible I felt, Kurt." He takes a shaky breath, wiping at his eyes. "To see you so upset, knowing that my blatant stupidity and huge ego did that, I just – I had to do something to forget how broken you looked. And so I got drunk, but you found me. You found me, and everything changed.

"I started realizing then. I knew that I was falling for you, and quite honestly, I was scared. I'd never felt like that. I'd never felt _that much_ towards someone, and I – I'd already screwed up once, and I was terrified of screwing up again.

"But then we went on that date, and Kurt, I just – I felt so _alive_. All my past mistakes, all my worries, everything fell away when I was with you." He smiles, wide and shaky through his tears. "And then we got up on that stage, Kurt. And I watched you sing. And it was precisely that moment – watching you sing 'Blackbird.' My eyes just opened, and I was certain, Kurt - I've been looking for you forever. I never thought I'd find someone like you. Someone who understands me, and is just – perfect, and I can't believe I'm putting this all on the line, but Kurt, I'm – I'm in love with you. And all I want, more than _anything_, is for you to forgive me and to at least stay in my life. I can deal with it if you don't love me back, but I need – "

And he's cut off as suddenly, lips are crashing against his own.

And oh God, this is _much_ different than their first kiss – which was desperate and needy and _holy shit, are we actually doing this?_ This is slow and careful and certain, and_ we have all the time in the world so let's enjoy this moment. _Kurt's hands find their way to Blaine's hips, one of them then crawling up Blaine's back, pulling him against Kurt's body. Blaine wraps his arms around Kurt's neck, gentle, and with careful fingers, he reaches up to tangle them in Kurt's hair, and God, he just never wants to let Kurt go.

Kurt pulls away what feels like days later, smirking and nearly laughing.

"You're an idiot," is all he says, and Blaine smiles anyway.

"Why?"

"Because," Kurt says. "You didn't think I'd love you back? Blaine, if I wasn't in love with you, this whole mess would have never happened."

"So," Blaine says. "You love me?"

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Only since Blackbird."

Blaine bites his lips smiling wide. And with a sigh, he reaches down, grabbing Kurt's hand. "Do you think we should be getting back?"

"Hmm," Kurt says. "Probably. But there's something I need to do first."

And he leans in, catching Blaine swiftly with another kiss.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So I'm pretty sure this will be completed on Wednesday. As always, thank you all _so much_ for the support. And Jasmine and Stephanie for beta-ing.


	15. Chapter 15

**fifteen.**

* * *

><p>A gentle breeze rustles in the trees, and Blaine leans his head against Kurt's shoulder. They're sitting out in the backyard of Blaine's parents' house, as he's now being monitored by them again.<p>

"Blaine?" Kurt asks, wrapping his arm more tightly around him.

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?" Kurt asks softly. "I figured when we got that whole mess over with, you'd be feeling better, but you still seem upset."

Blaine sighs, snuggling closer into him.

"It's not you," Blaine says immediately. "Don't ever think that it's you. You're perfect, and I love you, and you're always going to make me happy. I just – I still don't feel right."

"Why?" Kurt asks, looking down at him.

"I don't really know," Blaine replies. "I just – I'm still a puppet. My parents still control my career, my alcohol addiction isn't getting any better – the only thing that's good about my life is you. And we can't even show anyone that. I mean really – the only reason you're even able to be here is because my parents are out tonight."

Kurt sighs, and leans down, kissing the top of Blaine's head.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I know it must be infuriating."

"I just – I want to be able to make my own decisions," Blaine says.

"I know," Kurt says, and then pauses, looking down at Blaine. "You're really upset," he comments, rubbing Blaine's forearm. "Blaine, what's – are your parents really bothering you this much? Maybe you should move out – "

"No," Blaine says, and he sniffles, trying to discreetly wipe his eyes. "It's not them that's the worst. I just – it's the addiction. Kurt, we've been together for barely a month, and we've already fought about it twice. I – I _hate_ the person I've become, but I don't know how to fix it."

"Oh, Blaine," Kurt mutters softly. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened. It's not your fault, alright. You need someone, and I need to give you better support."

"No, Kurt. It's not – "

"Shh," Kurt says. "I'm going to help you, you know that. And remember what you promised your parents? After the movie premiere, you're checking into rehab. And I'll be there every day that I can to visit. You'll get better – I promise you." He leans down, kissing the tears away from Blaine's cheeks.

Blaine sighs as Kurt pulls away, snuggling tighter into his side.

"God, I love you," he says, voice raspy.

"I love you too," Kurt says. "And, Blaine, we'll – we'll figure everything else out in time."

Blaine goes silent, closing his eyes, and Kurt's brain takes off, thinking of different ideas, of different ways he could give Blaine what he wants.

.

.

Two days later, Kurt has it.

He'd stayed up for around thirty-seven hours now, working on this idea – making phone calls and chatting with people, and now he has it.

"Blaine!" he says excitedly as he barges into his dressing room.

Blaine looks up from his guitar, startled. "Kurt? What – what's wrong?" he asks, setting it down and standing.

"Nothing is wrong," Kurt says, smiling wide. "I just – I have an idea."

"About?" Blaine asks cautiously.

"A way to make your own decisions," Kurt says, and now his smile turns mischievous.

"Oh, God, what do you have planned?" Blaine asks, looking nervous.

Kurt laughs, which only scares Blaine more. "Come on," he says, taking Blaine's hand and leading him out of the room. "We have to clear it with someone else first."

He leads Blaine eagerly down the hall.

"Quinn?" Blaine asks. "Kurt, Quinn works for my parents – how is she supposed to help?"

"Who says she isn't willing to betray them?"

Blaine's eyes widen. "Oh, fuck. What have I gotten myself into?" He follows Kurt into Quinn's office, shaking his head.

"Hey, Quinn," Kurt says cheerfully. "I've brought him."

"Quinn, what the hell is going on?" Blaine asks anxiously. "And am I possibly going to be murdered for doing whatever it is I'm going to do?"

"Well," Quinn says, wrinkling her nose, "that depends on if your parents have enough willpower to do it."

"Huh," Blaine says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I really don't know whether to be excited or terrified right now."

Quinn laughs. "Just take a seat and I'll tell you what's going on."

He sighs and sits down next to Kurt, and Quinn tells him everything about the idea Kurt came up with and how in a week from tomorrow, he'll have the chance to do an interview and say whatever he wants.

"An interview?" Blaine asks skeptically. "You think an interview is going to let my parents make my own decisions?"

"Blaine," Quinn says, leaning forward and raising her eyebrows. "Blaine I'm not going to tell you what to say. And Heidi Nelson from the Today Show isn't going to either. This is your chance. You're choosing the questions, you're making the announcements. Whatever you say on that show is completely yours."

Blaine sits back a second, thinking about this.

A chance to say whatever he wants. A chance to get up there and be honest and tell everyone what he wants to say. He can tell everyone the truth. He can tell everyone that he doesn't want to be an actor anymore. He can tell everyone how he's not dating Santana. He can tell everyone about Kurt –

"And that's not only it, Blaine," Quinn says, pulling back to the conversation. "But, I may or may not have spoken with Universal Republic this morning. And they may or may not want you to record a studio album."

Blaine feels his jaw drop, a ringing sounding in his ears. He feels lightheaded, almost weightless, and all he can choke out is, "But how did you know?"

Quinn smiles wider. "How do you think? Your boyfriend told me."

Blaine looks over to Kurt, letting out a noise between one of disbelief and longing. "Kurt . . ." he breathes.

"I just want you to be happy," Kurt says with a shy smile. "I can't be happy if you're not."

Blaine reaches over, taking his hand. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," Kurt replies.

"Okay," Quinn cuts in. "Save the romance for later, guys. We have to get everything settled. Now, Blaine – are you going to do the interview or not?"

Blaine turns back, biting his lip again and heaving a sigh. "Well, I mean, it would be a good opportunity. Mostly to – you know . . . come out."

"Come out?" Kurt asks. "To the public – already? Are you sure, Blaine?"

"I've accepted myself," Blaine says sternly. "The only thing that's left is telling people."

"But – this is a huge thing, Blaine," Kurt says carefully. "Well, I mean – for a celebrity. Even though it shouldn't, it has a lot of effects on your career."

"Quinn," Blaine says, looking to her. "As my publicist, would you want me to come out?"

"If that's what you want," Quinn says. "I'm not going to hold you back, Blaine."

"You see?" Blaine assures. "It's not my problem if producers are stupid enough to judge my acting on my sexuality. I want to do this, Kurt. I don't want to have to hide our relationship anymore."

"If you're sure," Kurt says softly.

"I'm sure," Blaine says nodding.

"Then I'll be right there to support you," Kurt says with a final sort of nod.

"So, we're doing the interview?" Quinn asks.

Blaine smiles. "We're doing the interview."

.

.

But a week later, Blaine's waiting around backstage, pacing and sweating and thinking that he might possibly throw up. He feels a soft hand grab his elbow, slender fingers wrapping around his arm.

"Blaine?" Kurt says, looking at him. "Are you okay?"

Blaine nods. "I'm – I'm fine."

Kurt tries to hide a smirk. "Blaine, you look like you've seen a ghost."

"Okay, so I'm a little nervous," Blaine says.

"A little?" Kurt asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Extremely," Blaine admits. "I think I might puke."

Kurt sighs, and reaches down, taking both of Blaine's hands in his. "You're going to do fine, alright? You've got this. I'll be right here if you need me."

Blaine nods, swallowing hard.

"I believe in you," Kurt says, voice almost a whisper, and he leans forward, pressing a soft, quick kiss to Blaine's lips.

"Blaine?"

He turns, and Heidi's standing just onstage, beckoning him forward.

"The commercial break just started, and we go live in four minutes," she says, and he nods.

"I'll be right there."

He takes a deep breath, and gives Kurt a tight hug before walking out onto the stage and sitting down in the chair across from Heidi. Kurt moves up to the edge of the right wing, so Blaine can easily see him. Blaine forces a smile, letting Kurt know that he's alright.

"You ready, Blaine?" Heidi asks. "This is a big interview. You okay?"

Blaine nods, inhaling a shaky breath. "Yeah, I'm – I'm okay."

Heidi offers him a shy smile. "You'll do great."

"Thanks," is all Blaine can choke out, and then the cameras are turning back to them, the lights growing brighter, and Blaine takes a deep breath, preparing himself.

"And we're on in five, four, three, two – "

"Hello, everyone!" Heidi says brightly, looking into one of the cameras straight ahead. "We're back now with the talented, Mr. Blaine Anderson. We've got an exclusive interview for you today, so listen up as we begin."

She turns, looking at him, and his heart is racing in his chest. He sneaks a glance at Kurt, and swallows hard.

He can do this.

"So, Blaine," Heidi starts. "You've got quite a few announcements to share with us today. Why don't start with what's going on regarding all the trouble that's been going on."

"My alcohol addiction," Blaine says bitterly, rubbing his neck.

Heidi nods. "Exactly. What are you planning on doing to deal with that?"

Blaine laughs awkwardly. "Rehab, basically. Umm – after the movie premiere, I'm checking into a rehabilitation center, and I think I'll be there around three weeks."

"And how did you come to this decision?" Heidi asks.

"Well, I don't want to be like this," Blaine says. "It's as simple as that. My addiction has gotten me into a lot of trouble, and I just don't want to have it controlling me anymore. I don't like what it does to me, and I don't like what it does to those around me either. So, I'm finding a way to deal with it and get better."

"Well, we're all very glad to hear that, Blaine," Heidi says with a smile. "And I'm sure many are very proud of you. There are a lot of celebrities that struggle with alcohol addiction, and most of them don't take it as seriously as you seem to be. So, congratulations on that."

"Thank you," Blaine says.

"And now – something that might be a little upsetting to your fans," Heidi continues. "Can you tell us what's going on regarding your career?"

Blaine actually smiles slightly, clasping his hands in his lap. "Yeah, I'm – I'm actually giving up acting for the time being."

"But ," Heidi urges.

"But," Blaine says. "I'm doing that to focus on a music career. I just signed a deal with Universal Republic, and I'll hopefully be releasing my first studio album in a year."

"Are you excited?" Heidi asks, grinning.

"I'm very excited, yes," Blaine says. "I've always dreamed of being a musician – ever since I picked up guitar on my first movie. I always wanted to sing and to make music, but acting just sort of came first. It was what I was most used to, and I never really thought about actually breaking away. However, I have been writing songs for awhile now, and when I was given this amazing opportunity by Universal Republic, there was no way I could turn it down.

"You know, actually for awhile, I think I could feel that change in desire. While I was working on this movie – Treading Water – I just felt incomplete. I felt like something was missing, like I should be doing something else, and low-and-behold, I was right. Now, I really just want to focus on my music career."

"Again, Blaine," Heidi says. "Congratulations. We're so glad you've been given this chance."

She takes a deep breath, and oh God, those first two announcements went by way too fast. Blaine swallows hard, shifting his weight in his seat.

"And now – our last announcement," Heidi says. "It's a big one, isn't Blaine?"

He nods, feeling the color drain from his face.

"Now, there have been many rumors about you and Santana Lopez. That you two are dating, in love, all that jazz, and you actually confirmed them just a couple of weeks ago. However, now you're saying that that's not all true."

Blaine shakes his head, taking a deep breath.

Here he goes. This is his moment. This is his moment to let everyone know, to show the world who he is, and he can't back down now. He can't be afraid. He has to do this.

"Santana and I aren't dating," Blaine says. "We never have, and well, we never will. Because . . ." He breaks off, heaving a deep breath. No – he has to do this.

He finds his gaze moving offstage, towards the wings, and there stands Kurt, pride blazing in his expression, and Blaine finds the strength to continue.

"Because I'm gay," he says at last. "I'm gay, and I'm happily taken."

Heidi smiles, wide and warm. "And who are you taken by? Can we bring him out?"

Blaine nods, and smiles wide, beckoning Kurt forward. Kurt looks startled for a second before he steps out onstage, walking towards Blaine.

Blaine stands up, and his legs are shaky, but as soon as his arms are wrapped around Kurt, he feels safe.

"I'm so proud of you," Kurt whispers in his ear, and Blaine can feel the backs of his eyes burning. His mind flashes back to just a week after he and Kurt got together.

_("I've only told one other person, Kurt. I'm – I'm not bisexual, or pansexual. I'm gay."_

"_Well, that's good. So am I."_

_A laugh. _

"_But, Blaine – I'm right here when you want to tell everyone else. I'll hold your hand if you need me too."_

"_Thanks."_

"_Of course.")_

He pulls away, wiping as discreetly at his eyes as he can.

"I'm happily taken by this amazing man right here," Blaine says, taking Kurt's hand. "Ladies and gentlemen – my boyfriend, Kurt Hummel."

Kurt catches him by surprise, leaning over and kissing him quickly on the lips. Blaine pulls back, laughing slightly, and he really could care less what the audience watching thinks, because right now, he feels so free. He's got nothing to hide anymore, and it's an amazing feeling.

He's finally in charge of his life, and that's all he's ever wanted.

That, and Kurt.

.

.

This is the difficult part.

Blaine thought the interview was hard, but here's where things get terrifying. Now, he has to face his parents. But Kurt's right next to him, Quinn and Jeff are just ahead, and Santana brings up the rear, and as long as he has them, he's going to be okay.

Kurt gives his hand a squeeze, looking at him and smiling, almost sad.

"I love you," he says. "No matter what happens, I love you."

Blaine doesn't quite know what to say, so he simply tries to smile back and takes a deep breath before going forward and entering the house, Kurt right on his heels.

His parents are waiting for him as soon as he steps inside.

No one speaks, but follows the Andersons to the living room. Blaine's parents take a seat in their usual spot in the couch, and Blaine in his usual spot across from them. Quinn, Jeff, Santana, and Kurt don't come into the room, feeling that things would only be more tense if they did. Instead they wait just a ways down the hallway, huddled up and looking at each other as they listen to the conversation.

"Just let me explain," Blaine says immediately.

His father laughs, bitter. "There's nothing to explain, Blaine."

There's a long, uncomfortable silence, and then his father continues.

"I don't want you living here anymore," he says. "I don't want you to be one of my clients. I'm done being your agent. And - I'm done being your father."

Blaine's eyes widen, his expression falling, and his starts spinning so fast he thinks he might pass out if he tries to stand up.

"Dad – " he chokes.

"And it's not that I just cannot fathom you doing something like this," his father continues. "But, Blaine – we didn't raise you to be gay."

"Raise me?" Blaine asks in disbelief, and now he's about ready to rage. "You didn't raise me at all. And that – that has nothing to do with my sexuality. I would've turned out gay whether you were horrible parents or not."

"No," his father says sharply. "Do not blame this on us! You're the one who made these decisions, Blaine."

"My sexuality is not a decision, Dad," Blaine says.

"Don't call me that," his father says darkly. "You're not my son, and I'm done having this conversation. You'll pack your things and be out of this house in a half hour."

And with that, he rises from his seat, stalking towards the door.

Blaine swallows hard, but it's too late – tears are already streaming down his face, sobs threatening to break out of his chest.

"Clara?" his father says looking back; Blaine's mother is still seated. "Clara, aren't you coming?"

"No, Alan," she says simply. "I need to have a conversation with my son first."

Alan stares at her in disbelief. "You're serious? You're supporting this behavior?"

"It's not a behavior," Clara says sharply, and she's suddenly on her feet. "It's who Blaine is, Alan. And if that's who my son is – if I even have the right to call him that – then I'm going to support him. Blaine," she says softly, turning towards him. "Blaine, I'm so sorry."

She takes a step forward, reaching out, cupping her son's face in her hand. "Blaine, I've – I've been such a horrible mother to you. I – I love you more than anything, sweetheart, and it kills me every day to know that I haven't been letting you know that. And you know what, I'm done – " she turns back towards Alan for a second. "I'm done answering to your father, and if he isn't okay with who you are – if he doesn't want to be a part of his family, then he can leave."

Alan looks nothing short of completely shocked. "Clara – "

"Get out," she says sharply. "I don't want you tainting this family anymore. _Get out_."

He opens his mouth as if he's about to say something, but with a cry of frustration turns around, storming from the room. Blaine and Clara hear the slam of the front door soon after, and with sighs of relief turn back towards each other. Clara pulls Blaine into a tight hug, only to be interrupted by Quinn, Jeff, Santana, and Kurt peaking around the corner.

"Quinn!" Clara says brightly, but her voice shakes, her expression strained. "And Jeff, Santana - and you must be – "

"Kurt," he says.

Clara pulls away from Blaine, and keeping one hand on his arm, holds out the other to Kurt. "It's wonderful to finally meet you, and I'm so glad you did all of this for Blaine. Without you, I'm sure Blaine would have never gotten the chance to speak his mind. Alan's a little too controlling, and well, I – I was never brave enough to stand up to him."

"Except for now," she says, turning back towards Blaine with a watery smile. "Blaine, I'm really – I'm so sorry, honey, and I – I just want you to know that I'm so, so proud of you."

A sob escapes his lips, but he smiles back.

"Thank you, Mom," he whispers, and he moves forward again, hugging her tightly.

Right now, it does feel a bit like the end of the world.

There's too much for Blaine to deal with – too much heartbreak and anxiety and hate he knows he's going to have to deal with, but as long as he has these people with him – namely his mother and Kurt – he knows he's going to be alright.


	16. Epilogue

**epilogue.**

* * *

><p>"Blaine?" Kurt calls out, unfolding his umbrella and taking off his coat. "Blaine, I'm home, and have you checked iTunes today?"<p>

No answer.

Kurt sighs, picking up his bag and walking down the hall towards the living room.

"Blai – "

He's laying on the couch, fast asleep with his guitar next to him and his notebook lying open on the ground, a pen on top of it. Kurt smiles and walks forward carefully. He sits down on the couch right in front of Blaine, scooting carefully right in front of his stomach. Then putting a hand on Blaine's back, he leans forward, kissing Blaine cheek, then moves to his jaw, his earlobe, his neck –

Blaine lets out a sigh.

"Mmm, Kurt," he murmurs.

"I'm right here," Kurt says.

Blaine turns his head, and Kurt kisses his mouth. Blaine kisses back softly, reaching up to lazily wrap his arms around Kurt's neck.

"Hey Kurt," Blaine says softly, pulling away.

"Yes?" Kurt asks.

"My album is number one."

Kurt laughs, nodding. "I know, Blaine. I checked iTunes every half hour today until it got there."

Blaine leans forward again, kissing Kurt roughly.

"I can't believe it," Blaine sighs, and he pushes himself upward, sitting up straight.

It's still baffling to him.

Everything that's happened in the past year is just insane.

After the interview, Blaine was certain things would get better, but of course, things have to get worse before they get better, and things were pretty bad then. His parents got a divorce, and he and his mother moved into his house for awhile. He received a large amount of hatred for coming out along with the support, including countless death threats. His alcohol addiction became stronger, which caused a lot fights between him and Kurt until finally after the movie premiere, he went and stayed at a rehabilitation center for a month.

After that, things did pick up.

Blaine moved in with Kurt soon after checking out of rehab, and he's been sober for six months now. Kurt is good with making sure he stays that way. And the album – Blaine finished recording his first studio album only weeks ago, and it's already up and out there – number one on the charts, his leading single one called "Light."

And things didn't just pick up for Blaine.

His mother got a new boyfriend, and though it stings that Blaine doesn't ever see his father anymore, his mother's happiness is enough for him.

He still remembers when both Quinn and Jeff called him, announcing their relationship. Blaine had always suspected, and he was hardly surpised.

And about a month ago, he sat down next to Kurt in front of TV, watching Santana come out on national television. Her publicist had seen Blaine's interview and softened up, allowing Santana to do the same once all the support came rushing in for Blaine.

It really is hard to believe.

"Well, I can believe it," Kurt says with a smile, and Blaine gives in, leaning back for one more kiss.

"So," Blaine says, standing up and stretching. "How was work today?"

"Eh – fine," Kurt replies. "As fine as you can get in the midst of all the stress of being a new designer."

"It'll all be worth it," Blaine says, sitting back down. "You'll be one of the heads in no time."

"I hope so," Kurt replies, sighing. "Oh – but my dad came to see me at lunch."

"And how was that?" Blaine asks.

"Fun," Kurt admits with a grin. "He brought Carole along." He pauses. "And you know – that is still so weird to me. Bring your dad to one movie premiere and suddenly he's hooking up with the mothers' of celebrities. Next thing you know, and Finn Hudson's going to be my step-brother."

"I wouldn't count that out," Blaine says with a smirk, and Kurt smacks his arm playfully.

"No, but I am happy for him," Kurt says. "It's about time he found someone."

Blaine sighs, "I'm glad I found you."

Kurt looks to him, shaking his head.

"What?" Blaine asks.

"You and your romantic blurts," he sighs. "I love you so much."

Blaine leans his head against Kurt's shoulder, his heart feeling unnaturally heavy. He reaches out, grabbing Kurt's left hand.

And as he stares at their entwined fingers, he suddenly can't get the image of a ring around Kurt's fourth finger out of his head.

"I love you too."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I am in awe right now. I really am. I can't believe it's all done. This was the first multi-chapter I've ever finished, and even though this has been finished in my documents for over a month, it's even more solidifying publishing it all.

And I just really need to thank all of you. The response has been incredible. I've been choked up so many times during the length of this fic, I lost count.

And Jasmine and Stephanie - thank you both so much for beta-ing. Stephanie, I know you kind of lost track in the middle, but I still appreciate all that you did for me. And Jasmine, okay you are insane. You beta-d half the thing in one sitting.

And I guess now, I'll go.

I really hope you enjoyed this fic, and I hope you enjoy my next, well _our_ next - Jasmine and I.


End file.
